


I Hate You, Most Ardently

by anonymouslyme8



Category: Pride and Prejudice (2005)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:52:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 26,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymouslyme8/pseuds/anonymouslyme8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was going through Lizzy's mind in that eternal moment between her rejection of Darcy and his retreat? Heated, fervent hatred and perhaps something else? Based on the scene in the movie adaptation where Darcy confesses his love in the rain. Plot with smut, character study.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Darcy’s confession of love had caught her more than off-guard. Even as she felt indignant, offended that he could possibly mock her this way, she wondered what redeeming quality he thought he had that would sway her to his side. Was it just the money? Did he think that was enough?

Certainly, it was not for Elizabeth, especially in light of his slight of Mr. Wickham. Wickham, at least, was agreeable and friendly to her. She could almost believe he might hold some affection towards her, but Mr. Darcy? 

“And what about Mr. Wickham?” she asked, her emotions getting the better of her.

“Mr. Wickham?” Confusion passed over his face, then something akin to exasperation.

She waited a moment for him to further answer, but it was clear nothing else was forthcoming. Ire bubbled up in her throat, and she lashed out at him.

“What excuse can you give for your behavior toward him? He told of his misfortunes and yet you treat him with sarcasm.”

Even as the words left her mouth, she wondered if she regretted them. He was a gentleman far above a class she could ever hope to marry. She would never have to worry about anything again, much less want for any tangible possession on the earth. The logical part of her, which already was berating her for passing over Mr. Collins’s proposal, could hardly bear for her to burn this bridge, which was so very unlikely and clearly so impossible to build again.

Darcy was a handsome man. That, she had to admit, even when she amused herself by listing all of the qualities she disliked about him. Somewhere, it registered in her mind that she should be flattered by his attention—he was, after all, obscenely rich and young for his income, not to mention tall and lean with a broodingly attractive face. She could do much worse—much, much worse, in fact—and yet she felt not the slightest inclination to accept his advances.

She could not imagine living with someone she didn’t love, much less someone she very nearly hated, for the rest of her natural life. And in exchange for what? A few fancy dresses, luxurious furniture, and an expansive garden? Those were not the things that brought her joy, and she knew their gratification would be short-lived for anyone, and for her if they brought her any at all.

He spoke again before she had settled easily on any given opinion—she could not marry him, but she was so very stupid to reject him. Much more stupid, even, than rejecting the foolish Mr. Collins. She knew, somehow, though, that it was already too late.

“So this is your opinion of me. Thank you for explaining so fully.” He nearly spat the words at her, his eyes filled with hurt and perhaps mortification. “Perhaps these offences might have been overlooked had not your pride been hurt by my honesty—”

This was simply too much! The very picture of pride insinuating that she was at fault? She interrupted him chokingly, disbelievingly: “ _My_ pride?”

“—in admitting scruples about our relationship. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your circumstances?” He demanded an answer from her with his tone, but it was clear that there was only one possibility he felt acceptable. Her eyes scanned his eyes, his face, his mouth, trying to form a poisonous-enough retort. She was suddenly sure that she had made the right decision. How could she have even considered marrying this unlikable, sorry excuse for a gentleman?

“And those are the words of a gentleman,” she scoffed. “From the first moment I met you, your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others made me realize that you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.”

The response certainly felt stinging enough for her liking, and she felt a burst of energy from nailing its delivery. His eyes immediately revealed that her arrow had struck home, and they searched her, implored her for any sign that there was hope left. Suddenly, her breath caught in her throat—she glimpsed desperation in his face. He wanted her affection so terribly that it shook him to his core.

With that realization, a completely new emotion washed over her, not replacing her anger, but coloring it.

Elizabeth, being a well-read woman, had read a few of those secret books, improper books a young, unmarried girl like her should never have opened. They had taught her about the physical feelings possible when in the throes of love, and they had opened her eyes to a world where shared intimacy between men and women had qualities beyond appropriate and inappropriate. They had opened her eyes to a world where a man could make a lady’s heart race and her cheeks flush, where the woman craved the touch that the man gave instead of being forced into it and bearing it with the heavy heart of duty.

Those feelings, of a racing heart and warm blood rising in her cheeks, came rushing back to her at once. Her face tingled beneath the cool raindrops, and for a moment she wondered if Mr. Darcy would notice the pink rising in her face. Some rational part of her mind knew that in her anger and embarrassment, her cheeks had already flushed, but still a different kind of embarrassment rose within her, brought on by just the echo of her improper thoughts.

What in the world had come over her? Never in her life had she been so angry and so mortified. Repulsion and abhorrence rose in her from somewhere deep and fiery, but she wasn’t sure if she was going to hit him or kiss him. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin, she could feel energy radiating from him. A rivulet of rain dripped from his hair onto his cheek and ran slowly down his face; she imagined the softness of his skin, imagined reaching her hand out to stop the water from trailing farther.

Her wrath had brought with it its equally fiery partner, lust. She imagined taking his breath away by kissing him firmly, roughly, finally silencing his arrogant, sour words.

His mouth met hers roughly, and she wondered what sorts of thoughts had been running through his head while she was contemplating her own feelings. His lips were soft, his mouth warm, but they moved with barely controlled anger. Her fingers buried into his wet hair, gripping it more roughly than she had intended.

Before she could fully take in the sensations, she beat her free fist on his chest, not with real malice, but with frustration and rage and hunger. How could he tempt her so when she hated him more than any man on the face of the Earth?

As suddenly as it began, it ended, and he stepped away. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have.” His eyes, nearly black, were filled with regret, apology, and embarrassment.

She realized he had mistaken her hand for fighting to get away from his grasp. Her lips tingled with the loss of sensation, and her hand felt like it had been burned by the very heat of him. All she could think about was how much she wanted to be pressed against him again, how complete she felt when she was kissing him.

“No,” she said, stepping towards him, “please.”

The very sight of him overwhelmed her. His shirt collar was askew, and a gap in the lacing near the top revealed a rounded diamond of bronzed skin. His hair stood out from his head where her fingers had disturbed it. He looked so disheveled compared to his normally meticulous appearance, and in this state of subtle undress he looked more handsome to her than anyone ever had before.

Her step forward was the only invitation he needed. He wrapped one arm around her and pressed her into the stone column. His icy blue eyes bored into hers, and the energy of their argument rose in her again. Her hand gripped his upper arm, her mind torn with indecision—shout or kiss again?

The stone was shockingly cold beneath the wet fabric of her dress, and the warmth of his arm provided a stark contrast in both texture and temperature. His other hand cradled her neck, pressing her wet hair into her skin, as he leaned in to kiss her again.

She felt his nose press into her cheek as his mouth once again devoured hers. She could smell the slightest essence of his aftershave underneath the rain and the smell of wet fabric. He had a hint of stubble on his cheeks, and it felt like fine sandpaper her face as they kissed hungrily. Her eyes drifted shut and the sound of the rain on the ground drowned out her thoughts. She concentrated instead on the feeling of his chest pressing into her, of his pelvis on her hip. Her stomach twisted into a knot and she could feel her blood coursing through every part of her body, she could hear it rushing in her ears. She had never been so overwhelmed by a physical sensation before, and it was terrifying and comforting at once.

His lips parted and his tongue lightly brushed over her lips. She gasped slightly, feeling as if he had taken her breath away. He took her bottom lip between his teeth. He tasted of rain, of cloves, of spearmint. The very energy of him burned her lips, but she wanted more.

She grasped the front of his shirt between her fingers, pulling him closer. As she breathed in, she tasted his breath, felt the extent of his desire for her. His hand moved from her back to rest on her hip and her wet dress clung to her back, giving her the sensation of a lost embrace. Tentatively, her tongue darted into his mouth, desperate to taste him, to get a sense of him, to understand why he could drive her so crazy when she hated him so deeply.

Her hand seemed to move of its own accord, tugging his shirttails out of his trousers. Her fingers traced over the skin of his abdomen. Slowly, they crept through the hair on his chest, making him pull away to gasp for air.

He gazed at her for a long moment, hundreds of unspoken words pooling on his tongue. Her hand fell out of his shirt and hung loosely at her side, wondering what his next move would be. She knew what she wanted: for him to continue touching her, kissing her—she wanted to feel his fire more, deeper.

With one step, he enveloped her in his arms again. His lips pressed into her neck, sending a cold shiver down her spine. One of his hands crept up her back, tugging at the laces of her dress. A stab of panic went through her gut—what were they doing? Were they going too far?

Her breath escaped in a rush, and she gave herself to him. All her regrets, misgivings, hesitations went out with her breath and she gave into her body’s desires. What did it matter, after all? If she was going to die an old maid, she owed herself one moment of pleasure. Whatever happened after this moment didn’t matter to her now, and just once, she owed it to herself to live fully in the present.

How they got there, she didn’t know, but she was once again pressed against the stone wall, deafened by the sound of the rain all around them. Her leg wrapped around his, him buried deep inside her. Her lips parted to gasp for air, and the rhythm of her breath sounded in time to her rising pleasure. His hair grazed her cheek as they moved, his lips still pressed firmly into her neck.

One of his hands toyed with her near their point of union, teasing her beyond her wildest imaginings. A mere hint of a tingle had grown into a roaring flame with so little encouragement, and she wanted to shout at him, angry and grateful, if she could only catch her breath. How dare he have so much power over her? How dare he make her feel this way when moments ago she wanted to never see him again?

The smell of the falling rain on the hills surrounded her in a haze; suddenly the sound of rainfall was masked completely by the sound of their short, gasping breaths. The sound of his pleasure was enough to make her head spin and she was overcome with the desire for more, more. The discordant sensations of the misty breeze and the warmth of his body made her dizzy and all she wanted was to be closer to him, even though there was no such thing.

He looked up at her with eyes darkened by lust, his head tilted in preparation to devour her mouth again. Strong emotion rose inside her as he bent to kiss her, and she gasped out a vehement, “I hate you,” as their lips met again. Viciously, passionately, she met his advances, their teeth and mouths clashing with the aggression they both felt. Energy filled her body to its very extremities, and she felt more alive than she had ever before.

A sudden intake of breath startled her. She blinked to find herself staring into the azure eyes of Mr. Darcy, still standing a step or so away from her, still very much dressed and un-mussed. Her whole body tingled with the loss of the all-encompassing sensation, and she struggled to equate it to the image before her, which contrasted so starkly to the image of moments before.

“Forgive me, madam,” he said with a hint of spite, “for taking up so much of your time.”

She swallowed difficultly as he pivoted and strode off once again into the rain. A part of her followed him, tugging her forward a half-step before she collapsed backwards against a stone column, her heart pounding. She was exhausted by the encounter, and it took her a long while to recover enough to catch her breath and feel the hot tears running down her face.

What a horrible, man. A horrible, handsome, breathtaking, terrible man.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Darcy stormed off across the grass, the pouring rain cold on his burning skin. He couldn’t believe he had suffered such a rejection, though he was not entirely caught off-guard by her sentiments. He knew that he was not a particularly social nor pleasant person. Perhaps sometimes words came to his lips before his brain had thought over their consequences.

He was dying to glance back at her, to see her again. What was she feeling? Did she feel as conflicted, as hurt, as he?

A pang hit him. Of course not. Her burning resentment would shine through her eyes and reach him even here, even though she would only be a silhouette from this distance through the rain.

But they had a connection. He felt it. When he had stepped closer to her, there had been a magnetic attraction between them. It would’ve taken less than a step to close the distance, to kiss her, to feel her soft, warm skin on his.

He stopped dead in his tracks and felt the icy water rush over him. Never had he been overcome with lust like this. Before a beautiful woman made his heart quicken and his ears color, but the feeling soon passed. It wasn’t just Elizabeth’s beauty that enraptured him, it was all of her. Long after the quickened pulse and warm skin faded, there was still a desire deep in his gut to touch her, to kiss her, and most of all, to just be with her, to look at her across the sitting room on a chilly autumn day, wrapped in the warm comfort of a cup of tea and a fire in the fireplace.

He felt so stupid. Of course a smarter match would be Caroline, but she repulsed him. Every aspect of her manner was carefully calculated to entice him, but it couldn’t be more unappealing to him. Her flighty, pompous demeanor made it difficult not to roll his eyes every time she entered the room. And yet Elizabeth, a woman with no prospects and the silliest family he had ever encountered, bewitched him in a way he could not understand.

And yet somehow he had managed to ensnare the fancy of Caroline, whom he couldn’t stand, and alienate Elizabeth Bennett, the only woman he had ever loved.

Love. Yes, that was it, no matter how many times he had tried to talk himself out of it. Long before his wretched confession to her, he had considered all of the other possibilities. Lust was a form of desire, yes, and it certainly colored his feelings for her, but there was something more. It was a much deeper desire, a desire to wake up next to her for the rest of his life, to see her tousled braided hair and wrinkled nightshirt in the pale light of the morning, to hear her easy laugh over breakfast, to watch her reading in the parlor in the late afternoon when no one was calling.

The simple fact remained that Elizabeth had a fire in her. She had a volatile, witty way about her that made her his equal in everything except social situations. In that, she far exceeded him. Her willingness to dance and her easy conversation made her great company, even to strangers. And, she had an obvious disdain for her family’s silliness, even as her love and loyalty for them was fast and deep and strong.

But he exceeded her in resources and income. That, of course, should make him the object of her efforts. She should have thrown herself at him from the moment he arrived in town, at least in keeping with the behavior of the other females he found at public balls. He didn’t exactly blame them—many of them were desperate as they were without inheritance or prospects, and if they could secure a husband so rich as him they would be comfortable and secure for the rest of their lives. But not Elizabeth. She made a passing comment at him, more an effort to include him in the conversation, but when he (rudely, he realized with mortification) dismissed her, she did not try again.

Never did her manners fade. She was the very picture of a lady, and behaved with a quiet but enticing air around him. Her jabbing words made it clear that she did not forget his rudeness (and that she had overheard his unfortunate words at the ball), but he had hoped that they had fallen into a sort of flirtaceous tête-à-tête that indicated her willingness to entertain his social awkwardness as a quirk rather than a flaw.

Clearly, though, he had misjudged her. Or, at least, he had allowed his hope and affection for her cloud his judgment and blind him to the truth.

He thought back on Jane and Bingley. He had not seen Jane’s affection for his friend, and he had clearly botched that relationship. Isn’t it only fitting that his own crash down around him? His best efforts to protect what he loved never seemed to work out in his favor.

His heart was heavy in his chest. What hope did he have of wooing her? Clearly so many of his actions had turned her against him entirely. He had made a grave mistake in harming her sister, though he did it unintentionally. Elizabeth’s fierce loyalty would make this mistake to most painful of his entire life.

Petrichor filled his lungs, and the air felt heavy with water. The weather was telling him what he had already figured out: he needed to mourn the loss of Elizabeth from his life. It was already over. If she thought he was so vile, she was lost to him. Was he vile?

His legs started moving again, almost of their own accord. Mud squelched around his boots as blades of grass crumpled beneath his feet. Everything he encountered seemed to crumple under his feet. He was going to be a bachelor for the rest of his life.

Elizabeth was the only woman he had every met who was worth having, the only woman who had every persuaded him that married life was something to be desired. And now she had slipped through his fingers, due to his own pompous, controlling actions. He shut his eyes against the rain. He felt sure he could never be happy again.

Darcy lay awake in his nightclothes, staring blankly at the ceiling. Sleep eluded him. He kept playing his scene with Elizabeth over and over in his head. What could he have done differently, said differently so that she wouldn’t have looked at him with that revulsion in her eyes?

Those eyes—those deep brown eyes—bored through him. The image of her was burned into his memory like that, full of disdain. It hurt more than any scar he had ever obtained before.

He though on Caroline then, of her bright green eyes that hungered for him. She reminded him of a calculating spider, trying to draw him into her meticulously spun web. The two women couldn’t be more different—and one wanted him and one wanted to never see him again. Could there be a fundamental difference there, in their personalities and their desires regarding him?

The one thing that bothered him above all, was her impression about the Wickham affair. It pained him on a deep level to remember the betrayal of his father’s generosity. And yet somehow Elizabeth had been twisted to believe that it was he, Fitzwilliam Darcy, who betrayed Wickham.

A bitter taste rose in his throat. He sat up and put his face in his hands. He was being forced to relive that horrible period over again. On top of that horrible look in Elizabeth’s eyes, now there was that moment where he cut off Wickham against his father’s last wishes. That had hurt him deep in his heart as he had imagined his father’s disappointment.

He stood. Sleep was not coming tonight. How could he make Elizabeth see? Even if he couldn’t make her feel differently about him, he couldn’t stand the thought of her falling for Wickham. She deserved to make her own decision, certainly, but she had only heard one, very biased side of the story. She didn’t have all the facts.

He sat down his writing desk and pulled out a pen. Words flowed forth, filling the page. She can decide who to believe, she had that right, but he was determined that she know the whole story, even if she never wanted to hear him again.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Darcy lay awake in his nightclothes, staring blankly at the ceiling. Sleep eluded him. He kept playing his scene with Elizabeth over and over in his head. What could he have done differently, said differently so that she wouldn't have looked at him with that revulsion in her eyes?

Those eyes—those deep brown eyes—bored through him. The image of her was burned into his memory like that, full of disdain. It hurt more than any scar he had ever obtained before.

He though on Caroline then, of her bright green eyes that hungered for him. She reminded him of a calculating spider, trying to draw him into her meticulously spun web. The two women couldn't be more different—and one wanted him and one wanted to never see him again. Could there be a fundamental difference there, in their personalities and their desires regarding him?

The one thing that bothered him above all, was her impression about the Wickham affair. It pained him on a deep level to remember the betrayal of his father's generosity. And yet somehow Elizabeth had been twisted to believe that it was he, Fitzwilliam Darcy, who betrayed Wickham.

A bitter taste rose in his throat. He sat up and put his face in his hands. He was being forced to relive that horrible period over again. On top of that horrible look in Elizabeth's eyes, now there was that moment where he cut off Wickham against his father's last wishes. That had hurt him deep in his heart as he had imagined his father's disappointment.

He stood. Sleep was not coming tonight. How could he make Elizabeth see? Even if he couldn't make her feel differently about him, he couldn't stand the thought of her falling for Wickham. She deserved to make her own decision, certainly, but she had only heard one, very biased side of the story. She didn't have all the facts.

He sat down his writing desk and pulled out a pen. Words flowed forth, filling the page. She can decide who to believe, she had that right, but he was determined that she know the whole story, even if she never wanted to hear him again.

* * *

Morning ended her sleepless night. Mindlessly, she donned her clothes and fixed her hair, wondering how her life would ever be the same again. Darcy, Fitzwilliam Darcy, loved her? Was this some cruel trick?

Dawn shined through the window. Outside, the weather smiled on, unaware of the miserable night she had suffered. Over and over he told her he loved her, her mind taunted her with the vision of his face, his startling eyes.

And over and over she remembered her vivid fantasy, over and over again he took her breath away.

Frustration curled her hands into fists. Her body insisted on betraying her. Darcy, a vile, proud, self-absorbed, pompous ass, was the last man she should ever dream about kissing. Wickham instead should be the subject of such visions, but his gentlemanly face never seen the same shock through her.

Perhaps the fresh air would clear her mind. She started for the door, but suddenly heard someone moving about. She couldn't bear to face even Charlotte, much less Mister Collins, especially so early in the morning. She sighed. A walk would do her such good, but she could rather not explain her tired countenance to her hosts. Wistfully, she gazed out the window at the garden, jealous of the flowers basking in the sunlight.

There was a soft rap on the door. Before she could raise her voice, the door opened. She began to turn, expecting a servant in to wake her.

He was so quick, so unexpected, it took her until he was leaving to register his face. Darcy slipped in, face downturn, and placed a folded letter on the windowsill next to her. She was frozen in place, and before she could think of anything to say, he had closed the door behind him. Color rose in her cheeks as the scent of him washed over her.

It took her a moment to regain her composure enough to pick up the letter. She stared at it, still folded and concealing its contents, wondering what it could possibly hold.

Was it a warning to her not to reveal his weakness? Was it a threat to ruin her family if she betrayed his feelings to anyone? Was it a withdrawal of everything he had said? Least likely of all, was it an apology for the things he had said that had hurt her?

Her fingers trembled, and she couldn't quite bring herself to open it at first. Would it not be better just to leave it be? Surely she would never see him again, if only for the sheer embarrassment they both now felt in each other's presence. Could there be anything in the letter that could change this interaction for the better, instead of just hurting her more?

Something in the back of her mind was insistent that she at least read the words. If it was worth facing her again to deliver after the painfully awkward exchange the day prior, he must have felt it very important for her to know. Perhaps he had delivered it in written form because he had guessed—correctly, she thought in mortification—that she would not listen to it if he tried to say it to her face.

Suddenly steady, her hands unfolded the letter. His tight, spidery script covered three pages of stationery. She took a deep breath. Even if he was her least favorite person, he deserved this much respect. And if it was rude, it would only reassure her that she had done the right thing in spurning him, even though if her mother knew what she had done it might very well end her life.

Her eyes scanned the letter twice before its meaning sunk in. She had to read it twice more before the gravity of it hit her. She sank into the desk chair behind her, reading it a fifth time. Could this be true?

Nausea washed over her. Should she have really believed Wickham's story so quickly? He was barely an acquaintance to her. He had done nothing to prove himself trustworthy other than to come off friendlier than the likes of Mr. Darcy. Was it her opinion of Darcy that made her not question the story of a stranger?

Darcy's words were saturated with regret and carried the sting of the betrayed. She was certain he had been fiercely loyal to his father from the letter, and she could almost feel through the parchment his pain at having to go against his father's wishes. The clean, tight lettering showed his effort to come across as the emotionless deliverer of the truth, but his passion bled through as the thick lines, betraying the pressure which he bore down on the quill.

She felt as if she had been stabbed in the chest. She remembered the insults she had thrown at him yesterday, and while many of them were still justified, she might not have said so many of them if she had not believed Wickham. Certainly the thing that had pushed her over the edge from a dislike of him to an ardent loathing was his supposed treatment of Wickham—or, at least, it was an excuse.

When she looked back on her actions, she wondered how long she had been looking for justification to hate him. He had been rude, certainly, and she had plenty of reason to dislike him and to avoid him. But, to hate him? Perhaps not. She had met so many unpleasant people in her life, but none that had pushed her into fury so readily. Perhaps she had been looking for a reason to hate him, and when she had heard of Wickham's supposed sorrows it had justified her.

She tried to look back on their interactions without the color of her quick decision, trying to determine whether he was only so unpleasant due to her own preconceptions.

When she caught her reflection in the windowpane, she had gone pale. She stood slowly, the letter tight in her hand. She ran, at a pace even surprising to herself, out the door into the front garden. She gazed down the road, as if looking for him. Her heart stuttered in her chest.

What was the sister of hate, and burned just as hot? Had she succumbed to the whirlpool he had summoned? Was her fantasy in the rain just her heart clamoring to speak out against her pride?

Yes, her pride had hidden from her what was plain to see: beneath that awkward, rude exterior was a loyal and well-meaning gentleman who made many social mistakes. Perhaps, just perhaps, he really meant what he had said. Perhaps, just perhaps he really loved her.


	4. Chapter 4

Lizzy couldn’t help but worry about Jane. It had been a week since she had returned home, and Jane was still airily gazing into space with the certain demeanor of heartbreak. Apparently, Jane had not attracted Bingley’s attention on her trip to London, and Lizzy could hardly bear to watch her in such a state knowing what she now knew about their separation.

Her stomach roiled and she cast her eyes back down to the book in her lap. Her feelings about Mr. Darcy had not become any clearer in the days since her return. Every time she looked at Jane, the thoughts of her sister, then Bingley and then Darcy whirled in her head, making her dizzy. At the center of it all were Darcy’s piercing blue eyes, staring at her, demanding her to take a stand one way or the other.

Darcy had been integral in Jane’s spiraling depression, and she could not yet forgive him for that. For hurting her, he was her enemy. And yet, he had done it, it turns out, for the noblest of feelings: to protect the feelings of his dearest friend. Lizzy believed, now, that he genuinely believed Jane apathetic towards the affair and had no intention of hurting her, although she hadn’t yet decided how much (if any) that affected her opinion of him.

As she braided her hair for bed, she watched Jane stare out the window. Jane had hardly spoken to her in the days since her return, which was very unusual.

“Jane?” Lizzy asked. She turned, her vacant eyes barely meeting Lizzy’s. “Are you alright?”

“Oh. Yes, Lizzy, I’m alright. I’m really quite over him, you see. Bingley.” She thought on that for a moment, and then seemed to remember herself. “How about you, Lizzy?” Some of the usual warmth returned to her voice, and she seemed to remember her affection for her sister. “You seem…different since your trip to see Charlotte.”

Truth be told, Lizzy had been dying to tell Jane about Darcy’s words since she saw her sister’s face. Lizzy has always confided in Jane about her deepest secrets, and yet she wasn’t even sure if it was her secret to tell.

“Jane,” she admitted, “something has happened.”

For a brief moment, Lizzy felt guilty for burdening her sister with yet another worry, but she reasoned it might take Jane’s mind off her own feelings.

She told the story of Darcy’s confession, though edited to take out some of her scathing remarks. She also withheld the information in the letter, feeling it was too personal and not her story to tell. She did, however, admit that she had probably judged Darcy too harshly.

“Mother would die of a nervous fit if she found out you turned down Fitzwilliam Darcy!” Jane gasped in disbelief. “To think of turning down that inheritance! I think she’s having palpitations now from the very echo of you saying it aloud in her house.”

Elizabeth cast herself down upon the bed. “It was horrible, Jane. To stand there as he insulted me and my family. But that wasn’t the worst part!”

“No! Then what?” Jane seemed to have forgotten her heartache temporarily, which urged Lizzy past her hesitation to confess the next part.

“I wanted to kiss him, Jane. I wanted him to take me in his arms, and…” Lizzy trailed off, not sure what to say.

“Lizzy! Darcy? That vile, rude man? I thought you hated him?”

“I do!” Elizabeth answered. “I did. I don’t know. I hate him, but in that moment, I wanted nothing more but to feel his lips on mine.”

“What are you going to do?” Jane asked, kneeling on the bed.

“Nothing. What is there to do? I’m going to hope I never see him again.”

Jane shuddered. “I suppose that’s for the best. Just try to get some sleep, Lizzy. Someday you will be married and you can forget all about Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

Jane blew out the candle and crawled under the covers. “Goodnight, Lizzy.”

“Goodnight, Jane.” But Elizabeth couldn’t imagine sleeping. Her lips were burning with the memory of her fantasy, and her cheeks were undoubtedly pink with embarrassment. She hoped she never saw him again. After all, she had no idea what she would do if she did.

***

Darcy had found no restful sleep since his encounter with Elizabeth Bennet. Nightmares raged where she rejected him over and over again, forcing him to live in an almost constant state of mortification. And that’s when insomnia allowed him to sleep at all. More likely, however, sleep eluded him and he was left to the torture of his conscious thoughts.

He imagined kissing her over and over again. He imagined the pink marks on her neck where his lips had touched. He saw white crescents on her skin where his nails dug in. He felt her warm, humid breath on his skin. It was the worst torture he had ever endured, to feel it so clearly when it wasn’t real.

Before now he had never lived in a state of such constant arousal. Even the slightest thought of her sent blood rushing southward. His heart was so full of her it pumped harder with the thought of her face. Every part of him was more hers than his, lived in enchantment of her rather than to give him life.

He saw her writhing beneath him, glistening with sweat, face contorted in pleasure. He saw her bosom heaving as she tried to catch her breath, heard her trying to say his name but gasping it instead. He heard her whispering her love to him as they lay in each other’s arms.

He gripped his sheets in his fists. Waves of frustration washed over him. His covers were tented over his erection. He was angry as his own indignity. No longer could he control his arousal. He was reduced to his urges like some sort of Neanderthal.

Elizabeth’s face, flushed with sex and exertion, taunted him. He shut his eyes, trying to block out those images. Instead, they just became more vivid. He could count her ribs as she arched her back; her knuckles were white as she gripped the edges of the mattress. Her stomach was taut, her neck extended. Every detail was clear before him, and it was driving him mad.

He groaned, gritting his teeth. Every inch of his skin was electrified. He sat up, putting his face in his hands. He was covered in sweat. He dipped a rag into his basin and dabbed it across his face, trying to put out the fire. Was he destined to live in his hell for the rest of his life? Would he last long like this? It certainly didn’t feel like it. He felt like more of him was dying every day.


	5. Chapter 5

Elizabeth paced in the garden with indignation. She had wished vehemently for something to take her mind off of her feelings for Darcy, but this was not at all what she had in mind. Why wouldn’t her father listen to her?!

Lydia was far too irresponsible to go off to Brighton without supervision, and as much as she trusted the Forresters, she did not think the situation ideal. Certainly not after Darcy’s scathing remarks about her family’s reputation—Lydia could deftly take it down even lower than it already was. Lydia’s silly attitude would land her with no reputation, no inheritance, and a ruined name, not to mention a plethora of ruined sisters.

Even if Bingley did come back, Lydia could ruin everything in Brighton. Then not only would Darcy have a hand in Jane’s heartbreak, but Lydia too.

And her mother was the worst of all! She was running around in a tizzy, ecstatic about Lydia’s chance to enter society—a tarnish on their family name as is, to have the younger daughters out before the older were married—and convinced Lydia would come home with a husband on her arm.

Lizzy wasn’t so sure. Lydia was such a flirt and so oblivious to right and wrong in so many situations, she was liable to come home ruined and unmarriable.

She sat down in the shade beneath a tree and buried her face in her hands. At least she had the trip with the Gardiners to look forward to. There was nothing she could do to protect Lydia or to improve the situation regarding Mr. Darcy. At least she could get away to take her mind off of it.

***

Once she was on the road, Lizzy’s mood was much improved. The fresh air was certainly doing her good, though the echo of worry and indecision wouldn’t leave her mind completely. The mortification of her encounter with Darcy had faded enough that she could bear to look herself in the mirror, and since Lydia had left, she had been forced to put more trust in the Forresters to keep her sister safe.

She and her relatives were picnicking in a particularly lovely area, enjoying the view of the countryside. Lizzy sometimes wished she could live her whole life like this, relaxed and in the great outdoors, without mortal worries like marriage and inheritances.

“You know,” her Aunt Gardiner said suddenly, breaking Elizabeth’s reverie. “Pemberley Estate is very near here. I’ve always wanted to see it.”

Lizzy’s heart sank. Panic started to rise in her gut. “Pemberley?” she said, trying to conceal her emotion. “Isn’t that where Mr. Darcy lives?”

“Yes, that’s the place. I’ve heard it has the most beautiful grounds of any estate in the area.”

“Oh, but that’s so far out of our way. Wouldn’t it throw us off schedule?”

“Nonsense, Lizzy. It’s very close and we are going that way already. I would really love to see it.”

“I’ve always thought it an odd custom, to visit peoples’ homes and intrude upon their personal life. Even if their house is beautiful, why can we enter without an invitation?”

“Lizzy!” Aunt Gardiner scolded. “Pemberley is open for visitors, and besides, Mr. Darcy is away. We won’t disturb anyone.”

Lizzy’s stomach was twisted into knots. Just seeing the house would be horrible for her constitution, but at least Darcy would be away. Besides, once her aunt got an idea into her head, it was hard to get it out. If only she could disappear—it would be so much better than walking around Pemberley, being reminded of the handsome Mr. Darcy. The man she hated, Mr. Darcy. The man she was starting to feel something for, Mr. Darcy.


	6. Chapter 6

Seeing Georgiana had done good for Darcy. Her charming face was just the thing he needed after solitude had nearly driven him crazy. Being with her had reminded him that he still did have something to live for—Georgiana needed him, even if Elizabeth Bennet did not.

Of course, Georgiana had been eagerly curious about his trip to see her. After all, he could not keep many secrets from her, especially when his best alibi was going to see Lady de Bourg, whom they both detested. He couldn’t bear to relive his torture, much less burden the light heart of his sister with his woes, so he glossed over the bulk of the trip. He knew he hadn’t been able to keep some of the pain and desire from his voice, though, and Georgiana had avoided the subject ever since.

He had been so comforted by her presence, in fact, that he couldn’t bring himself to leave again, even though he had plans to. Instead, he decided to stay and listen to the soothing sound of Georgiana’s piano. He decided, too, to be a little more unreachable for a few days, leave the property open for visitors as if he weren’t home at all. Let people wonder about what business Darcy had elsewhere, and let him be a recluse for a little longer, to lick his wounds.

To forget about his enchantment with the beautiful, intelligent, fiery Elizabeth Bennet. As if he could.

***

Her first view of Pemberley simultaneously took her breath away and made her sick. Cold apprehension flooded her veins, and immediately she wanted to run. Her aunt and uncle were so enchanted they didn’t notice her discomfort. She wondered if it was too late to feign illness or to be consumed by some great hole in the ground. She felt like already all eyes were on her, as if everyone knew exactly what had transpired, like her life was some spectacle everyone had seen.

Her face burned in embarrassment as they approached the steps. She thought at any moment she would simply die, her heart would stop and she would fall to the ground. As they entered the house, she expected at any moment for Mr. Darcy to round a corner and throw her out. What gall she had, entering his home after rejecting his proposal!

The housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, showed them around the house. It was grander than her wildest imaginings. Over and over again she imagined walking through the halls as its mistress, she imagined the feeling of home that would wash over her upon entering halls this grand. Perhaps the library was the greatest sting of all—all those books could have been hers.

They entered the gallery, and Elizabeth was in awe of the art adorning the walls and the sculptures over the door. Many of the paintings she imagined were of the Darcy family, and some of the men bore likenesses to the face that had haunted her for weeks.

That’s when she saw it: a painting of Mr. Darcy himself in all his grandeur, looking out over the gallery with a look of content. She was so struck with the likeness looking down upon her she froze, unable to look away and yet unable to breathe.

“That is my master, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Reynolds said, coming up behind her.

“A handsome face,” Mrs. Gardiner commented, looking at Lizzy’s presumably pale face. “Is it a true likeness?”

“Does the young lady know Mr. Darcy?” Mrs. Reynolds asked.

“A little,” Elizabeth said voicelessly, still transfixed on the painting. They got the eyes right. Piercing, intelligent, and oh so blue.

“Do you not think him a handsome man, miss?” Mrs. Reynolds asked, a smile in her voice.

Handsome. Images from her fantasy flashed through her mind: the bronzed skin of his chest, his dark glossy hair, his tantalizing lips. Slowly, she remembered her voice. “Yes. Yes, I suppose he is.”

She heard the others move on to the next piece, but her legs wouldn’t move. She was paralyzed before the Darcy in the painting, her heart in her throat.

“This is his sister, Georgiana. She plays and sings all day long.”

Lizzy tried to glance at the likeness of his beloved sister, but didn’t quite manage. Suddenly, her heart stopped. Was that a piano being played in the house?

“They are at home?” She couldn’t quite keep the panic from rising in her voice. The urge to flee was back with a vengeance. It was all she could do to remain standing still.

“Miss Darcy is always down for the summer. Mr. Darcy is due tomorrow.”

“Is your master much at Pemberley?” Mrs. Gardiner asked.

Lizzy’s heart slowly started to beat again. Tomorrow—close but no reason to panic. And Georgiana would probably know nothing of her, so she would just have to avoid notice.

“Not as much as I would like, or he—for he dearly loves it here.”

“If he should marry, you might see more of him,” Mrs. Gardiner said, and the words struck Lizzy in the heart for a reason she couldn’t quite understand.

“Yes, madam, but I do not know when that would be. I do not know a lady who is good enough for him.”

Lizzy swallowed hard. She thought of his heartfelt words, his wretched confession of love.

“What do you mean?” Mrs. Gardiner asked.

“I've known Mr. Darcy since he was a boy. He was always a kind and generous person even then. Not everyone can see it, because he does not make a meal of it like a lot of young men nowadays. But he is the most sweet-tempered and kind-hearted man I have ever known.”

Nausea rose in Elizabeth’s stomach. Could she have misjudged him so harshly? Could it be possible for him to be as horrible as she thought when his housekeeper loved him so much? Certainly her perspective on him should be the most accurate. She doubted he could hide his true nature from someone who saw him so much.

Elizabeth felt panic seizing her. She had to get out of the house. Silently, she darted out a door onto the terrace. Immediately the fresh air made her feel less faint, but the disgust she felt for herself did not fade. Her tendency to judge quickly had never led her this far astray before, and she could hardly stomach the fact that she, not Darcy, was in the wrong.

The piano music washed over her, and she let it fill her mind. As long as the music was there, she couldn’t concentrate on the thoughts that made her head spin. The music was so loud, it had to be near. Georgiana had a delicate and talented hand. Elizabeth blushed when she thought of her piano playing at Lady de Bourg’s house. If this is what Darcy was accustomed to, her clumsy plunking must’ve sounded like noise.

Shyly, she peeked in through a window towards the music. Her eyes fell upon a beautiful pianoforte, and then drifted towards the player. Georgiana was certainly as beautiful as Darcy was handsome. Her face was flat with concentration, but joy sparkled in her eyes.

A taller figure stepped into the room, but she could not see him clearly for the shadows. Elizabeth thought it might be a valet summoning Georgiana for a meal or a caller. The figure approached Georgiana from behind, and then covered her eyes with his hands. Georgiana’s hands flew off the keys as she shook with laughter.

Panic stopped Elizabeth’s heart yet again. She wondered if she would survive this shock. She was frozen, watching. Georgiana stood to embrace him, and he stepped into the light. There was no mistaking his face; it was Darcy. He and Georgiana kissed, and then he glanced towards her.

Finally, her desire to run had an outlet, and she took off towards the grounds, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Miss Bennet!” Mr. Darcy called after her but she couldn’t face him. Suddenly, he caught her by the arm.

She turned, her face burning with absolute mortification. His face was red as well, and she imagined his embarrassment rivaled hers. His azure eyes were bright as he looked at her face. He looked handsome as always in his shirt and breeches, and Lizzy could not help but observe the contours of his legs beneath the tight fabric. She imagined clutching his behind with her hands in a fit of passion, and she could feel the color in her cheeks grow darker.

“I—I thought you were in London,” Lizzy stuttered, as if this were an excuse for her transgression.

“No,” he said. The following pause was heavy, and he broke it long before its time. “I’m not.”

“No,” she agreed. Her tongue felt thick.

Another hellish silence. She could hear her heart beating in her ears.

“I came here a day early—“

“I wouldn’t have come—“

“Some business with my—“

“I’m terribly sorry—“

They both stopped speaking suddenly, and they met each others’ eyes. His were full of emotion, but Elizabeth couldn’t describe it. Certainly it was full of energy and she desired to break the spell.

“I’m visiting Derbyshire with my uncle and aunt,” she said, as if they were old acquaintances who ran into each other in town.

“Are you having a pleasant trip?” he asked, his eyes softening. Suddenly she was seeing the side of him Mrs. Reynolds loved, the side of him that was gentle and kind. There was eagerness in his eyes, true interest in her mood and enjoyment.

“Very pleasant,” she answered, and was surprised at the ease of her smile. “Tomorrow we go to Matlock.”

“Tomorrow?” Disappointment crept into his tone, but he recovered quickly. “Are you staying in Larnbton?”

“Yes. We’re staying at the Rose and Crown.” Was that too much information?

He looked at her for another long moment. Her mouth went dry.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” she said suddenly. “They said the house was open for visitors. I had no idea…” She was rambling now, so she cut the sentence short.

“May I see you to the village?” he asked. She could hear the hope in his voice. She shouldn’t have come here; she had given him the wrong idea.

“Oh no!” she stammered. “I’m very fond of walking.”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

They looked at each other again. The tension was palpable. She imagined again for the thousandth time kissing him, touching him, running her hands through his hair. There was a burning in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t quite understand. She daren’t touch him for fear she would spontaneously combust.

“Goodbye, Mr. Darcy,” she said to break the awful silence.

She turned to start the walk back to the village, but she could feel his eyes burning into her back. Her legs moved unconsciously forward, and for that she was grateful, because if she had had her way she would’ve run back into his arms.


	7. Chapter 7

Darcy shut himself in his room after Elizabeth left, his mind swimming with possibilities. She was leaving so soon after arriving. He had no time to win her over. But certainly her attitude had seemed softer towards him. Perhaps his letter had convinced her, at least, that Wickham was lying.

Georgiana had seemed to sense his mood and let him alone without asking questions. He felt guilty for neglecting her, but he knew he would not be pleasant company at the moment.

Elizabeth’s uncle and aunt had finished the tour without her and let back to the village. They seemed like sensible people from his small amount of observation—not so silly as her parents. He had gotten the impression from earlier encounters that Elizabeth loved the Gardiners very much and that they had much more etiquette than her immediate family.

What should he do now? Should he let her alone, let her leave and risk never seeing her again? Or should he go down to the village and visit her again at the inn, begging her to give him another chance?

He had hoped desperately that his feelings for her would pass, but they had only grown stronger. He had the misfortune to fall hard for someone who he had little chance of wooing. If he hadn’t been destined to be a bachelor before, this had been his downfall. Every waking thought was colored with her presence, and she walked in his every dream. Truly he had thought love this encompassing was only the fodder of poets, but he had been proven terribly wrong by the vivacious Elizabeth Bennet.

His mind had seized the civility of their encounter and turned it into hope of reconciliation, or perhaps something more. Certainly her eyes had examined him a little more closely, and he thought that her smile had been genuine. She had seemed very embarrassed to be caught here, at his home. He wondered if she had hoped to never see him again.

He had gone through this circle many a time. He would think he never wanted to see her again only to feel the crushing desire just to look upon her face, even if she still would have nothing to do with him. He thought of living near her just to encounter her in town occasionally, even if she married someone else and could never be his.

Thoughts of her were crushing his heart into pulp. He simply had to see her again before she left town. There was no way around it. Perhaps if he could simply have closure, he would be able to live his life without the heavy thoughts of “what if.” He would ride into town that night to see her again, and he would properly say goodbye. He had to tell her to safely care for his heart, because no matter what, she would always have it.

***

Lizzy had feigned a headache to stay in the room at the inn for the rest of the afternoon. Mrs. Gardiner was concerned for her health, but Lizzy had hardly the strength to comfort her. Truly she felt like a part of her was dying, and she couldn’t even explain what or why.

Now, though, it was time for supper and she supposed she should keep up some semblance of normalcy and attend with her aunt and uncle. She stood slowly and groomed herself, then made her way downstairs. She steeled herself for the bustle of the dining room, and started for the door.

Mr. Darcy! She felt as if she had been stabbed through the chest. She had barely opened the door a crack when she saw him, talking to her uncle and aunt at their table.

She was paralyzed in that moment, unsure of what to do. Should she go join them or retire back to her room? Her eyes stung with tears, and she wasn’t even sure why.

After a moment, Darcy turned and left. It took a moment for Lizzy to regain control of herself, but she darted towards the table after a moment.

“Lizzy!” Mrs. Gardiner said. “I’ve just met Mr. Darcy. Why didn’t you tell me you’d seen him? He’s asked us to dine with him tomorrow—He was very civil, was he not?”

“Very civil,” Uncle Gardiner agreed.

“Not at all like you painted him.” Mrs. Gardiner was clearly quite enchanted with the gentleman.

“To dine with him,” Elizabeth repeated dully.

“There is something pleasing about his mouth when he speaks,” Mrs. Gardiner continued.

Yes. There was. The more she thought about it, there was less about Mr. Darcy that wasn’t pleasing than that that was.

“You don’t mind delaying our journey for another day?” asked her uncle.

Elizabeth felt numb. She shook her head.

“He particularly wishes you to meet his sister,” said her aunt.

“His sister,” she repeated again, sitting down at the table.

Not only did he not throw her off his property, but he was inviting her back to meet his beloved sister. In fact, he seemed determined to ingratiate himself with her family. It seemed quite contrary to his earlier comments about their embarrassing stature. Was he really the person that Mrs. Reynolds knew? Was Elizabeth’s Mr. Darcy a figment of her imagination, and not fact? It was beginning to seem like it. She supposed she would find out tomorrow. Her heart fluttered, and she wondered if she would be able to stay on her feet when she saw Mr. Darcy again.


	8. Chapter 8

Darcy was pacing in the parlor, his heart racing. What was he thinking, inviting Elizabeth over for dinner? This was so foolish—he had already made a fool of himself so many times, and now he was opening himself up to do it again.

“You seem restless, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley said, venom in her voice.

He forced himself to stop. Why did she have to be here? She could ruin everything. And besides, the last thing he wanted was for Elizabeth to get the impression that Miss Bingley was an option over her.

“Surely you can’t be worried about impressing Miss Bennet,” Miss Bingley taunted. “After all, being invited into your home was such an honor she should fall over herself trying to impress you.”

If only. Elizabeth was hardly the type to try to impress anyone. Besides, he could hardly worry about impressing her when he was so worried about simply remaining on his feet and not embarrassing himself.

He heard the front door open, and the sounds of his guests chatting as they entered. He froze, and wondered if he was going to faint. Georgiana was playing the piano again, and he tried to let the music calm his nerves.

As soon as they entered, Georgiana sprung up from the piano. Darcy was glad for the distraction, because he didn’t know what he would’ve done otherwise. She rushed over to the visitors with a huge grin.

“My sister, Miss Darcy,” he said, beaming a little bit.

“Miss Elizabeth,” she said, shaking Elizabeth’s hand graciously. “My brother has told me so much about you I feel we are friends already.”

Elizabeth observed the room, careful not to make eye contact with Miss Bingley. “What a beautiful instrument,” she said, indicating the piano.

“My brother gave it to me,” she said, and then looked back at him with a smile. “He shouldn’t have.”

“Yes I should have,” he answered, smiling back at her. It was easy to smile around Georgiana, she had a way with people.

“Oh, very well then,” she said with an easy wink.

“She’s easily persuaded, is she not?” he teased.

“What a surprise, Miss Bennet, to see you in Derbyshire,” Miss Bingley said with false courtesy. Darcy could hear the sarcasm through the sugar.

“Your brother is well, I trust?” Elizabeth jabbed.

“Very well. He hopes to come here soon. Pemberley holds a special,” Miss Bingley paused to look pointedly at Georgiana, “attraction for him.”

Elizabeth smiled a sickly sweet smile. “Yes, the library is particularly splendid, is it not?”

Darcy sensed this false propriety was going to get out of hand.  “Your uncle is fond of fishing, I hear.”

“Yes, very,” Elizabeth answered, barely taking her eyes off of Miss Bingley.

Darcy took her gently by the arm and steered her to the side. “Perhaps you could persuade him to take up a rod, for the lake here is well-stocked and its inhabitants have been left in peace far too long.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I am sure he will be easily persuaded.”

His hand burned where he had made contact with her arm. The nights he spent in agony thinking of her sprung to his mind, and he looked at his feet. He wanted to say something else to her, but his mind brought forth nothing. He thought so many things—that she looked beautiful, that her relatives were pleasant, that it was wonderful to see her again—but he was too embarrassed to say them. Desperately, he wished he could apologize for the insults he had dealt that afternoon in the rain, but he choked on the thoughts.

“Mr. Darcy!” called Miss Bingley.

He looked at Elizabeth for a long moment, and then left her side for Miss Bingley. He was unwilling to further alienate her by hovering silently at her side.

“In six months I have never seen someone so altered! How brown and coarse she has become!” Miss Bingley whispered, indicating Elizabeth.

Anger rose in Darcy’s heart, and he had to take a deep breath before he could answer. “I perceive no alteration except she is rather tanned. Hardly a miraculous consequence of travelling in the summer.”

Indeed when he looked on her he saw a great alteration. She had become somehow more beautiful than he remembered. The grace of her dark hair pinned on her head seemed more fantastic than all the hair of the aristocrats that paraded before him. Her dress was so perfectly fitted to her he felt it more beautiful than the most expensive dresses he had seen in London. Her soft, tan face allured him more than any painting, and certainly stirred him more than any woman he had ever spotted.

Miss Bingley looked indignantly at him. “I remember when we first met her in Hertfordshire you said, ‘she a beauty? I would sooner call her mother a wit.’”

Darcy shot her a scathing glance. “You must have misheard, Caroline. Even if I had thought it I would have couched it with more finesse.”

He could take no more of her, and strode over to join his guests again. How Caroline expected to win him with such distasteful behavior escaped him. Certainly, Elizabeth’s wit and demeanor was preferable a thousand times over hers. Over and over again he was learning that income had no correlation to pleasantness, except that higher income came with a higher chance of poison.

***

After the meal, Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Darcy went out to fish. Mrs. Gardiner and Miss Bingley retired to the parlor to play cards while Georgiana sang. Lizzy slipped out to walk the grounds, alone. She had had more than enough of Miss Bingley’s false friendship—and she was afraid Miss Bingley had figured out Darcy’s attraction to her.

Her arm still tingled where he had touched her. She couldn’t throw the feeling. Something was terribly different this time around. Darcy seemed softer, much more pleasant. What could have changed? Was it truly Darcy, or was it simply her perception of him?

She strode on absently across the grounds, her mind spinning. This Mr. Darcy seemed the polar opposite of the one she had met in Hertfordshire. In fact, she wondered what her answer would have been if this Darcy had asked for her hand instead of the Darcy from Hertfordshire.

Elizabeth wandered until she reached viewing distance of the lake. Her uncle and Mr. Darcy appeared to be talking amicably while they fished. Even from a distance, Darcy’s figure allured her. She sat down in the shade of a tree, overcome with heavy thoughts.

She imagined his hands cupping her ass as she leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him. His hands wrapped around her waist, strong and warm, as he dipped his head to meet her lips. He was warm and solid, but remarkably soft. Her hands roamed over him, gripping and releasing, exploring the muscle and skin that cloaked him.

His breeches and shirt were barely barriers to her touch, and she felt intricate detail beneath her fingers. His hands slowly crept downward until they mirrored hers, and her heart fluttered. Their kiss deepened, and she felt the beginnings of his arousal press against her side.

“Miss Bennet?”

She started and leapt to her feet, positive she had never been more embarrassed in her life. There were likely no tomatoes redder than her face in that moment, of that she was sure. Mr. Darcy stood before her, weight on one leg, holding a fishing rod. She stepped back slightly, determined to put more distance between her and Mr. Darcy to prove to herself that she was in fact in control of her desire.

“Mr. Darcy,” she said, her voice a tad higher than she intended.

The look on his face showed his hesitation. He was clearly unsure how to act in response to her exaggerated reaction. He cleared his throat.

“Your uncle and I were going to walk back to the house. Georgiana would like to play for us this evening. I think she has prepared a new piece for the occasion.”

Lizzy swallowed. She wasn’t sure if she could trust her voice. “That sounds lovely.” Her arm tingled stronger in reaction to his presence.

Darcy hesitated. “Would you like to accompany us? Mr. Gardiner would like to see the back garden, but then we will return to the parlor.”

“Of—of course,” she managed.

He gestured for her to follow, and they started back towards the lake where a valet was gathering the rods and fish to carry back to the house.

“We had a very successful afternoon. I think our catches will make a fine addition to supper tonight,” said Mr. Darcy.

“My uncle must be delighted. I think he would spend all his time fishing if that were an option.”

“Did you have an enjoyable afternoon?” he asked as they reached Mr. Gardiner.

“Very. The grounds here are the loveliest I’ve seen, and I couldn’t have asked for more pleasant weather.”

He smiled, and it seemed her heart might melt. “I’m glad. I hope Miss Bingley did not bore you.” Clearly Mr. Darcy was not oblivious to the dislike between them. She was certain he did not mean “bore.”

“She had no interest in walking the grounds. She and my aunt remained inside to play cards instead. I think your lovely sister sang for them.”

Mr. Darcy smiled again. “I hope she did not bore them. I never grow tired of her voice, but I worry I indulge her too much.”

Lizzy smiled. His affection for Georgiana reminded her of her own relationship with Jane. “There is no such thing as indulging a sister too much. Besides, with her charms I do not think anyone could tire of her.”

Mr. Gardiner was beaming. “This is the best-stocked lake I have ever seen, Mr. Darcy! I am grateful for your invitation to enjoy it, and your rod served me extraordinarily well.”

“It was my pleasure, Mr. Gardiner,” Mr. Darcy answered with a slight nod of his head.

As they turned to walk towards the back garden, Mr. Darcy put his hand on the small of her back and she nearly fainted. A second later, he yanked it away as if he had only just realized what he had done. Neither of them looked at the other. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

Something had changed between them. That much was clear. She wondered if he had forgotten about his love for her. At the thought, her heart sank, even though she was sure she still disliked the man. After all, one pleasant afternoon could not be enough to prove him a different man. Even though she desired him, it did not mean anything emotional. He was a handsome man—that much was objective. Even her aunt had thought so. Thinking about kissing him was not related to a change in her feelings for him.

It must simply be their way of coping with the awkwardness between them. That must be the change she was sensing. Perhaps she had misjudged his character, but the fact remained that he had insulted her and her family on several occasions. She couldn’t be starting to like him. She couldn’t be starting to love him. It didn’t make sense.


	9. Chapter 9

That evening, with full bellies, they were in the carriage on the way back to town. The Gardiners were snuggled in the back seat, laughing softly. Lizzy sat in the front next to Mr. Darcy, who had the reins. They sat so close together she could feel the heat of his body.

Lizzy gazed out on the countryside. It was serene, peaceful. And for the first time, her proximity to Darcy was not so disturbing. She felt almost comfortable there, as if they had settled into a new friendship. “It is so beautiful up here,” she said softly. “I will be sad to leave.”

He smiled as he drove, the soft clip-clop of the horse hooves filling the science. He said nothing.

“You have been a most gracious host. I’m sure my uncle and aunt will talk of nothing else for days.”

This time he glanced at her, but his face was serious. He looked down at his lap for a moment, and then returned his eyes to the road. “I have recently thought a great deal about how I act and appear to others.”

Elizabeth’s heart fluttered. Did she have this effect on him? “It does you credit, sir,” she said softly. And she meant it.

Night was falling as they reached town. Darcy parked the carriage in front of the inn and helped Lizzy down. He held onto her hand a second longer than necessary.

Mr. Gardiner leaned on Lizzy’s shoulder to whisper in her ear. “What a capital fellow.”

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. What a wonderful day,” said Mrs. Gardiner, taking her husband’s hand.

“You are most welcome,” answered Darcy. “If I might have a word with Miss Bennet before I take my leave?”

Elizabeth was startled. “Of course.”

The Gardiners entered the inn as Elizabeth stepped aside with Mr. Darcy. She couldn’t imagine what this was about. And she wasn’t sure she trusted herself to be alone with him in the dark.

“Miss Bennet,” he said.

“Mr. Darcy.”

“I purchased this in London,” he said quickly, holding out a book to her.

She hesitated for a moment before taking it.

“I know how you like to read,” he said before she had a chance to say anything.

“Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

It was a beautiful book, much more expensive than anything she would’ve been able to afford. The edges were adorned with gold leaf, and it had an embossed ribbon bookmark.

“If you’ve read it already, I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, clearly embarrassed by his gift.

“I haven’t,” she said.

“It was the talk of the town in London.”

Suddenly they were standing much closer than a moment ago. She had to think about holding the book or she was quite sure she would drop it.

“I’m sure I will enjoy it.”

 They were standing so close she realized she wouldn’t even have to step forward to kiss him. She cocked her head just slightly to one side, imagining doing just that.

She realized he had cocked his head to the other side. His dark eyes were searching her face, and she was absolutely enchanted by him. They were being drawn closer together by some unseen force. Her heart was fluttering, with trepidation and with desire—what was happening?

“Miss Bennet?” A voice interrupted them, and she took a hurried step back. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”

It took her a moment to find her voice. “Yes? I’m here.”

A servant stepped forward. “A letter for you, Miss.”

She glanced back at Darcy before dashing into the inn. He followed her at a calm walk. She wondered if his heart was racing as fast as hers.

She took the letter from the servant. “It’s from Jane,” she said aloud, perhaps to Darcy, perhaps to herself.

They walked to the room where the Gardiners were reading. “A letter from Jane,” she announced to them with a wide smile.

She ripped it open eagerly, excited to hear from her beloved sister. Her eyes started to scan the scrawling text, and she felt as if she had received a blow to the gut. If she had been asked before if a letter could impact her more than the one Mr. Darcy had left her, she would have laughed straight in their face. Impossible!

But she had been wrong.

She started to read the letter again from the beginning, shock settling into her gut. She couldn’t believe what she was reading—it was as if it were from a stranger to someone else. Nothing this terrible could happen to her family. It had to have happened to someone else.

Tears streamed down her face before she realized she was crying. She dashed into the bedroom before the sobs overtook her and cast herself onto the bed. It couldn’t be true!

She tried to get ahold of herself, but was unsuccessful. After a few minutes, she felt guilty for leaving her friends without a word. Still crying, she reemerged, clutching the letter in her hand.

She opened her mouth to speak, but a sob escaped instead. Her shoulders shook. She felt as if she was ruined, and perhaps she was. And to think a few moments ago she was a second away from kissing Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy!

“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said gently.

She couldn’t stop crying, though she tried. The scene from earlier kept replaying in her mind, their proximity haunted her. She knew her eyes were red and she was a horrible sight to behold. Such a contrast from before. Tears continued to flow.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said again.

She took a shuddering breath. “It is the most dreadful news,” she said. Her voice shook. “Lydia has run away with Mr. Wickham! She has no money, no connections. I fear she is lost forever.”

Mr. Darcy looked at his feet. “This is my fault,” he said quietly. “If only I had exposed him sooner.”

“No,” Elizabeth said, her voice suddenly stronger. “It is mine. If I had only been more open with my sisters rather than too proud with my knowledge.”

The truth of that statement hit her like another blow to the gut. She should have told them about Wickham, about Darcy, but it would have revealed her too-quick judgment. Rather than reveal her mistake, she had kept silent at the expense of not only Lydia but her whole family. They would all be ruined forever with one more poor decision from Lydia, and Wickham could never be persuaded to marry someone with so little a dowry.

Even if Mr. Bingley were to return, even if Mr. Darcy were to want her still, the Bennets could never marry a respectable man. Everything was falling down around her, just before it had fallen into place. Lydia was lost, her future was lost. It had all happened so fast. She was drowning, and she wanted nothing more than to fall into Mr. Darcy’s arms. But that was no longer an option. She was lost to him, if she had ever been a true option before.


	10. Chapter 10

As soon as he had reached his estate, he had ordered the carriage prepared for a trip to London. He knew where Wickham would go. After all, he had dealt with this before.

He was on the road again before morning, unwilling to waste a second. The image of Elizabeth distraught and crying was enough to spur him forward. He only hoped he would be fast enough. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would do anything—anything—to make Elizabeth stop crying. If he had doubted his love for her before, there could be no doubt now. The image of her sadness was like a stab through his heart.

They had been so close to reconciling their differences. He was sure his softening demeanor had persuaded her to let her guard down. And he could have been wrong, but he swore she was leaning into his almost-kiss, right before the servant called her away.

But now everything had changed. He knew that she would never agree to marry him if her sister was ruined—no matter how her feelings softened, she would never allow her sullied name to tarnish his. He had to stop this. He would do whatever it took to make Wickham behave as a gentleman. Whatever it took he would do it, without hesitation.

That horrible Wickham would ruin everything, again. If it weren’t bad enough to break his sister’s heart, now he was returning again to ruin not just another young girl, but her whole family. And break Darcy’s heart in the process.

***

It took him no time to track down Wickham. He threw him against the wall and threatened him. He wanted to beat some sense into him, but propriety stayed his hand. Lydia was apparently uncompromised, but he hated to imagine what would’ve happened if he had been later.

“You can have whatever you want,” Darcy spat at him, “but you will marry the girl.”

He checked into an inn nearby, hiring a servant to watch Wickham. The orders were to stop him, with force if necessary, if he tried to leave London. He looked in the mirror. His eyes were dark with his anger, and his face was covered in a fine stubble. He had not given much thought to shaving in his quick search through London. He looked a little haggard.

He collapsed onto the bed, his head in his hands. He was emotionally exhausted. First, the encounter with Elizabeth where they had almost kissed, then the letter, and now Wickham. He would’ve been happy to never see the bastard again. Now he was forced to watch over him until the binding legal contract could watch for him.

Lydia was as silly as always. She was oblivious to the pain she had caused her family, thinking this was all some lovely romantic gesture on Wickham’s part. She was going to be married! To her, it was all too wonderful. It made him sick—all he could see before him was the image of Elizabeth crying at the thought of her sister being ruined. And here Lydia was prancing about as if nothing had happened.

He dressed for bed and laid down. He didn’t know how he was to sleep with everything spinning in his head. They were not out of the woods yet; the wedding had yet to be planned, and the dowry had yet to be set, and he didn’t trust Wickham to stay put for a second. He shut his eyes, willing sleep to take him. Tomorrow, he hoped, Bennets or their relatives would arrive and he could put this issue to bed forever. Tomorrow, he hoped, he could soothe Elizabeth’s fears and restore some happiness to her face again.

***

Terrible dreams had overcome him during the night. He dreamed of a duel with Wickham for Lydia’s honor, he dreamed of the Bennet name ruined and Elizabeth cast out on the street. He dreamed of a thousand almost-kisses with Elizabeth, never being allowed to touch her. He dreamed of Elizabeth disappearing from his life forever.

He awoke with the dawn and rode down to the servant. Wickham had stayed put for the night. Darcy frowned, wondering what dowry and allowance he was planning to demand. Whatever it took he would give it, even if it ruined him. At least then he could think of marrying Elizabeth.

Darcy rode through the town, searching for word of Mr. Bennet or Mr. Gardiner. By mid-morning, he had heard nothing. He returned to the boarding house where Wickham and Lydia were hiding.

“You’re back,” Wickham said with contempt as he opened the door.

“May I speak with Miss Bennet?” he said, refusing to meet Wickham’s eyes.

“I don’t think you have the right,” Wickham said, obstinately blocking the doorway.

“It’s alright, dear Wickham,” Lydia said, coming up behind him, “I will have words with the gentleman.”

Lydia stepped out into the corridor, and Darcy closed the door behind her. “Miss Bennet,” he said, looking her over.

“Mr. Darcy. What are you doing here? My Wickham is not pleased at all to see you, you know.” Lydia was either truly oblivious or stubbornly refusing to see the trouble she caused.

“Miss Bennet, may I ask you: have you received a promise of marriage from Mr. Wickham?”

Lydia laughed haughtily. “Of course. We are here together, after all. That is the truest promise of marriage.”

“No, Miss Bennet, I mean has he asked for your hand?”

Lydia frowned at him. “Not in so many words. But why should he? Our love is too deep for words.”

“Do you know what you have done by coming here?” Darcy asked, anger rising. “You have very nearly ruined your family, you foolish girl.”

Lydia scoffed at him. “Who are you to call me foolish? Mr. Wickham and I are in love. I don’t expect you to understand. I don’t think you even have a heart!”

Lydia yanked the door open to storm inside. Darcy caught her arm. “I hope you understand what you have done, Miss Bennet. You and Mr. Wickham will be married before the week is out.”

Wickham’s face paled as he realized Darcy’s resolve; perhaps he was finally realizing the folly of running away with a girl with no resources and no dowry. Lydia, though, smiled smugly.

“We would have been married sooner,” she answered, yanking her arm from his grasp, “but Mr. Wickham wanted to tour London to find the perfect venue.”

Darcy finally stared into Wickham’s eyes, promising to enforce every threat he had ever made to him. “I hope you have been successful. I look forward to attending the ceremony.”

“What makes you think you will be invited?” snapped Lydia, but Wickham closed the door in Darcy’s face.

Darcy, already tired from the morning, retired back to his room for a light meal and thought. He sat at the writing desk with a blank sheet of paper, contemplating writing to Elizabeth. But words wouldn’t come. Until the marriage was settled and Wickham’s faithfulness ensured, he did not want to give her false hope. But he knew she was barely keeping herself together as she worried at home. Frustrated with his position, he balled the paper in his fist and threw it onto the floor.

Here was Miss Lydia Bennet, content with her actions and about to be rewarded for them in the form of marriage, while her sisters panicked at home with the thought of losing their prospects and their future. Why was it always the foolish people who were the most content?

He closed his eyes. One thing was for certain: he would not leave London without securing Elizabeth’s honor. In that, he took comfort. Wickham would not escape this situation, but would instead live to regret it every day for the rest of his life. At least Wickham was greedy; Darcy knew he could buy Wickham’s loyalty for a certain sum. It was Lydia who would live to feel the mistake of her recklessness. Perhaps then she would teach Wickham the misery of his behavior.


	11. Chapter 11

He had been in London for three days before he heard word of Mr. Gardiner’s arrival. Apparently, he had been searching the city without luck for nearly 2 days.

Mr. Darcy rode to the inn where Mr. Gardiner was staying, hoping they could solve this problem once and for all. A servant showed him to the room where Mr. Gardiner was staying, and he nervously entered.

“Mr. Darcy.” Mr. Gardiner rose hastily, clearly not expecting to see him.

“Mr. Gardiner.” He struggled to come up with the words to tell him what had happened so far.

“I have not yet located the youngest Miss Bennet. Mr. Bennet searched in vain but has returned to his family at my urging. He is much too stressed to do much good here, and I fear he will only get himself in trouble.”

Darcy cleared his throat. “I have found Miss Bennet and Mr. Wickham. They are secured, for now. I fear he will require quite a bribe to be persuaded marry her.”

Mr. Gardiner sighed with relief. “Money is no object. As long as she is uncompromised and he will take her.”

“I have assured him he will. Unfortunately, I have long been acquainted with Mr. Wickham.” He hesitated, and Mr. Gardiner hurriedly gestured for him to sit. He acquiesced. “Mr. Wickham once tried to elope with my sister. Luckily, I intervened before anything could happen, but Miss Darcy did not so easily recover from the heartbreak.”

Mr. Gardiner seemed unsure of what to say.

“Mr. Wickham’s weakness, fortunately, is gambling. Therefore, he is easily persuaded with money. I imagine his debts have grown quite beyond his control to try to gain money from the Bennets. He must know by now how little they can offer for Miss Bennet’s dowry.”

Mr. Gardiner frowned. “Luckily I can supplement their income. I will pay whatever he asks, as long as he will marry the girl.”

Darcy nodded. “I am sorry to have invaded the personal affairs of your family. I swear to you that I will treat this with the utmost discretion. However, I ask your permission to remain here until the marriage is completed. You can understand that my feelings about Mr. Wickham are somewhat personal.”

“Of course,” Mr. Gardiner answered. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Darcy. I cannot imagine what might have happened if you had not been here to track them down so efficiently. You can also be sure of my discretion as to your personal affairs.”

“Thank you. I also ask that you do not tell the Bennets of my involvement here. I fear Mr. Bennet is too proud to accept my contributions.”

“Anything, Mr. Darcy. I am continuously amazed at your generosity to my family. You are truly a gentleman.”

Darcy bowed his head. “As soon as you are ready, I can take you to them. I am sure we can negotiate a sum by this evening, and perhaps they can be married as early as tomorrow.”

“Of course,” said Mr. Gardiner, standing and gathering his things. “I am ready, Mr. Darcy, for this affair to be quite ended.”

***

“A letter!” said Kitty, running by and snatching the envelope out of the housemaid’s hands.

“Kitty,” scolded Jane, taking the letter. “It’s from Uncle Gardiner.”

The Bennet sisters gathered outside of their father’s study. “A letter, Father,” Jane said. “It’s addressed to you.”

Elizabeth was exhausted, wondering how they could manage any longer without Lydia being saved. Her mother was having nervous fits, quite often wailing with misery from her bed. Her father had been locking himself in his study, quite upset at his failure to locate his daughter in London. She hoped beyond hope that the letter held good news.

Mr. Bennet squinted at the letter, forgetting his glasses in his excitement. His eyes scanned the scrawled text slowly. “He’s found them,” he said, letting out his breath in a rush.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, relief washing over her.

“Are they married?” asked Kitty.

“Just wait,” he said anxiously, “I can’t make out his script.”

Elizabeth stood.  “Let me,” she said, taking the letter.

“Are they married?” Kitty asked insistently.

“They will be,” said Elizabeth, relief coloring his voice, “if Father will settle upon a hundred pounds a year. That is Wickham’s condition.”

“A hundred pounds!” repeated Kitty.

A hundred pounds, indeed. How much had Mr. Gardiner already paid in secret to make the sum so low? She could hardly imagine. “You will agree to this, Father?” Elizabeth prompted gently.

“Of course I will agree,” Mr. Bennet answered, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. “How much has your uncle laid upon this wretched man to make him settle for so poor a sum?”

“What do you mean, Father?” Mary asked.

Kitty had already darted up the stairs to tell Mrs. Bennet the news. Mr. Bennet waved Mary away as Elizabeth folded the letter again. “He would be a fool to marry her for less than ten thousand pounds.”

“Ten thousand,” said Jane incredulously.

“I should be sorry to think so ill of him so early in our relationship.”

“Ten thousand,” Jane repeated. “Heaven forbid!”

“I can hardly bear to imagine Mrs. Bennet’s delight over the impending marriage,” Mr. Bennet said tiredly, returning to his study. “Perhaps Kitty will bear the brunt of it.”

Elizabeth smiled sadly. Jane took her arm and they walked out to the front garden.

“Ten thousand pounds,” Jane said sadly. “Poor Uncle.”

“He is a generous man. Without him we would be all ruined,” Lizzy said.

“But to hear this from Mr. Wickham, Lizzy! I can hardly believe it. He was such an agreeable man!”

Elizabeth felt sick at the thought. “Yes, agreeable indeed.” Her mind spun. She was desperate to tell Jane what Darcy’s letter held. But she knew he had given her that information with the expectation of the utmost discretion. At least his family’s almost-disgrace had remained quiet. Unlike theirs.

“To think, Lizzy, you liked him so before he became involved with Miss King.” Jane gasped. “And she was the heiress of ten thousand pounds, Lizzy!”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps her family sensed his intention and drew her out of his reach.”

“Lizzy! Jane!” Their mother appeared at the front window, her hair still mussed from the bed, still in her sleep clothes. “Come in, quick! We must celebrate! Lydia is to be married!”

Elizabeth and Jane shared a look of exasperation. How could she be so ecstatic when it came at such a cost? This marriage stunk obviously of a patch-up job, and everyone who had been watching the affair unfold would view it with great amusement.

“A moment, Mother,” Jane said patiently. Mrs. Bennet made and exasperated noise and disappeared inside, but her clucking could still be heard.

“It is unfortunate that such a character must enter our family,” Jane said. “I hope he and Lydia are not too miserable, though she might deserve it.”

“Jane!” Lizzy said with a choking laugh. “How very cruel. And true.”

Jane took her arm again. “I suppose we must attend to our mother. Perhaps we can distract her so that Father can make the arrangements and write to London.”

Lizzy sighed. “Please, Jane.” She assumed an exaggerated expression she often used to mock Mrs. Bennet. “I’m just not sure my nerves can take it.”

The sisters laughed as they entered the house. At least the worst of it was over. Despite the circumstances, Lydia was not ruined and the Bennet girls had been saved from ruin. Lizzy’s heart felt lighter. Perhaps they could finally return to their lives as they were before.

***

Darcy and Mr. Gardiner stood to the side of the altar. Mr. Wickham's face was deadpan as he repeated the vows. Lydia, silly and oblivious as always, was done up in her finest dress and twittered into his ear.

Darcy drew Mr. Wickham aside before he got into the carriage. "Do not expect me to be so generous in the future. You are a married man now. You must behave more responsibly."

Wickham glared at Darcy, venom in his eyes. "My affairs are not of your concern. I have removed myself from your acquaintance long ago."

"When you require my fortune to pay your gambling debts, you return yourself to my acquaintance. I warn you, if you wrong the new Mrs. Wickham in the slightest, you will have to answer to me."

Wickham looked away. "As long as the allowance comes, I will be a devoted husband." He shrugged violently, resuming his deadpan expression. He climbed into the carriage with his new wife.

Darcy's heart was heavy. Their life together would not be happy, but it was better than the alternative. He had managed to save the Bennetts, and most importantly, Elizabeth. He cringed to imagine Mrs. Bennett's reaction to the cover-up. He was suddenly glad to be nowhere near Longborne, and it was the first time he had felt it so in months.

As Mr. Gardiner and the Wickhams departed London, Darcy moved from the inn to his London home. He had business in London yet to complete before he could see Elizabeth again. The image of her relieved and happy to be unruined would have to be enough to keep his strength until he could return.


	12. Chapter 12

Darcy sat inside the carriage, trying to steady himself. It was not often he had to admit he made mistakes, and it had always been a challenge for him. He knew he had to do it, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Bingley’s London house was grand, but he knew Bingley preferred Netherfield. It had been hard to separate his friend from the country, but he had thought it was for the best. Now he knew that he had been wrong.

He climbed the stairs and was shown in by the housekeeper. He sat in the parlor waiting to be seen, his knee bouncing with nerves. What was he going to say to make this right? Bingley had been miserable for weeks trying to get over Jane Bennet and now he was here to tell him to go back to her. He would not blame his friend for being angry with him.

“Fitzwilliam Darcy! I hardly expected to see you in London,” Bingley said cheerfully as he entered.

“You look well,” Darcy said as Bingley pulled up a chair.

“I am well. It is nearly bird season, after all.”

Bingley’s cheerfulness never seemed to fade. He was truly a man of optimism. But Darcy could see through the outer smile to the inner turmoil. Hunting season meant a likely return to Netherfield, which meant proximity to Jane Bennet again. Bingley’s feelings for the Miss Bennet had not changed in the months he had spent in London, no matter how his sister tried to convince him they had.

“Charles, I have to admit that I have been less than honest with you recently,” Darcy said, looking at his hands.

“What do you mean?” he said, his smile faltering.

“Miss Jane Bennet came to London some months ago, I think trying to attract your attention after you departed Netherfield. I took some steps to conceal this from you. I thought it was in your best interest, as I thought it would be better for you to forget her.”

“Jane was in London?” Bingley seemed dumbfounded by the news, and guilt washed over Darcy. He had not realized he had so successfully convinced his friend of her indifference.

“She called on you once, but I think your sister diverted her as you were not home.”

“Jane was in London,” he repeated thoughtfully. Accusation rose in his voice.  “Why did you so determinedly conceal her from me?”

Darcy looked at Bingley. “Not only did I truly believe her indifferent at first, but I believed it to be an ill match for you. I had thought that you would only end up hurt.” Darcy paused. “But, Charles, I was wrong.”

“You were wrong?” said Bingley with a slight smirk. “You are admitting it?”

Darcy smiled slightly. “Yes, I was wrong. I believe Jane Bennet quite the opposite of indifferent to you, and I think your tempers are quite well-matched.”

Bingley was overcome by Darcy’s confession. After a moment, he seemed to have come to a decision. “So do I have your blessing? To pursue Jane Bennet?”

Darcy frowned slightly. “Do you need my blessing?”

Bingley seemed amused. “No, but I would be pleased to have it all the same.”

Darcy smiled. “Yes, you have my blessing.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Bingley lost in thought. Darcy wondered how long it would take him to prepare to ride back to Netherfield. He almost expected him to be on the road within the hour.

“How are you, Darcy? I heard that Miss Elizabeth Bennet toured Pemberley on her vacation to Derbyshire. I hope her presence was not too painful to you.”

Darcy sighed. “It was lovely to see her, even if her affections for me seem to be no stronger.” Sarcasm colored the last part of his statement, and the night in the street suddenly returned to his mind. “Perhaps there is an inkling of friendship, but I hesitate to hope for more.”

“If she cannot see what a good man you are, perhaps you are better off to forget her,” Bingley said gently. “But do not give up hope.”

Darcy sighed. “Better off in the long run, perhaps, but not now.”

“Take heart, Fitzwilliam. We will journey to the country and revel in some sport. I am sure you will feel stronger soon enough.”

Darcy smiled, but he did not feel the comfort the words were intended to impart. He couldn’t help but dwell on the proximity of Netherfield to Longbourne. And he still was not sure if he could bear to continue to keep his feelings for Elizabeth to himself. Every time he saw her face, he desired to kiss her or tell her how much he loved her again.

Could he bear to be rebuked again? Could he bear not to be, if it meant he must keep his feelings for her silent again? A pain stabbed him in the chest again—he was becoming simultaneously used to and sensitive to the sensation, as it had been happening so frequently over the past months. He wondered how much longer he could take the pain without action. He supposed he would find out, because he couldn’t imagine it subsiding anytime soon. He loved Elizabeth as much as ever, if not more so. Every moment without her was too long, but he saw no end to his suffering. Unless she had been amenable to his advances in the street, her feelings had not likely changed. He worried his perception of her leaning had been a figment of his imagination, and the longer he went without seeing her, the more he convinced himself it was so.

***

Lydia and Mr. Wickham returned to Longbourne to visit before Wickham’s transfer to the north. Mr. Bennet was not at all pleased to receive them, but Mrs. Bennet was hysterically ecstatic to see her married daughter. Mr. Wickham acted very much like a cat barely tolerating a child’s affections: cold, restrained, and slightly resentful. Lydia didn’t seem to notice, chattering and giggling like she had just won a massive prize.

“It was so wonderful,” Lydia bragged to her sisters as they walked through the garden. “I wore the most beautiful dress! But I wish I could’ve had it at the church here, so all of my friends could’ve seen and swooned with jealousy.”

“Lydia,” Jane said measuredly, “I’m sure you know why you could not be married here.”

Lydia stood up a little straighter, casting a nasty glance at Jane. “I hardly see why the only attendees at the ceremony were my aunt and uncle and that awful Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth, who had been deliberately ignoring the conversation, went rigid. “Mr. Darcy?”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “There weren’t even proper flowers, and I wasn’t even sure Uncle Gardiner was going to make it to the ceremony and that awful man would have to be the best man.” Lydia finally seemed to realize what she was saying. She gasped. “But I wasn’t supposed to say!”

Elizabeth strode over to Lydia and caught her arm. “Lydia, what was Mr. Darcy doing at your wedding?”

Lydia snatched her arm back and started to walk again. “He made me swear not to tell. I wasn’t supposed to even tell that he was in London, though I don’t see why not. After all, Aunt and Uncle were there and they saw him.”

Elizabeth couldn’t name all the emotions coursing through her. Her heart could hardly be beating anymore, it was just fluttering uselessly in her chest. She felt faint, and her face flushed.

Jane stared at Elizabeth, looking past Lydia. Elizabeth swallowed, willing her body to return to normal, not to reveal herself to her sister. She coughed.

“Lydia, please,” Jane said gently, sensing Lizzy’s discomfort. “You needn’t betray any confidences, but what reason could Mr. Darcy possibly have for being in London for your wedding?”

Lydia sighed. “I don’t see why everyone is fixated on that nasty man. I suppose it’s all about him being rich. He was absolutely horrible to Wickham too, all because Wickham had a few debts.”

Jane glanced back at Lizzy, trying to share a look of knowing. After all, Jane had no reason to question Darcy’s rudeness, even in light of Wickham’s reveal. Two people could be unpleasant, after all. Jane strode forward to meet Kitty, who was still in a jealous fit over Lydia’s “good fortune.”

Lizzy’s head spun. Could this be true? Did Darcy flee from her not because she was soon to be ruined, but instead to track down the nefarious Wickham and compel him to marry Lydia? It was most at odds with everything she had assumed about his sensibilities, even as her feelings for him softened. Obviously he was much less proud than his family and his acquaintances (excepting, of course, the dear Bingley), rather than the proud and unpleasant sort she had assumed.

“I mean, he can spare the money! It’s not as if relieving Wickham of his debts could affect his wealth in the slightest!” Lydia clapped her hand over her mouth a moment before finishing her little rant. A second later, she dropped it. “I don’t know why I care if I’ve betrayed his confidence, anyway,” she said, her mouth twisting. “He couldn’t have been ruder to my dear Wickham!”

She stormed off to join Kitty, presumably desirous of silliness to replace the serious considerations of real life. Jane, returning from Kitty’s side, gently took Lizzy’s hands.

“Lizzy, pray tell what is the matter? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Elizabeth felt numb. “Perhaps I have.”

Jane laughed. “Tales of Mr. Darcy are enough to ruin anyone’s good mood. Let us return to the house, Lizzy. I think we have heard enough of Lydia’s bragging.”

“Yes,” Lizzy said voicelessly, allowing her sister to lead her. If she was being honest with herself, she could name her emotion for the first time. She could hardly bear to think the word, especially about the Mr. Darcy she met at the ball who had called her “barely tolerable” and the Mr. Darcy who separated her beloved sister from her true love. Crossing her arms tight, she vowed not to think it. It couldn’t be true. It could hardly be true. She refused to believe it.

***

It was only a day since Lydia and Wickham’s departure that the butcher delivered yet more news to shake up the Bennet household.

“Have you heard, Mrs. Bennet?” he asked while wrapping up her purchase. “Mr. Bingley is returning to Netherfield.”

Lizzy, who was holding Jane’s arm at the time, froze, looking at her older sister. Jane flushed crimson and looked at the ground.

“Mr. Bingley?” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed in surprise, then seemingly remembered herself. “But why should we care of the affairs of Mr. Bingley.”

The butcher’s brow wrinkled in confusion, but he didn’t answer. “I hear he comes alone,” he said a little more timidly, “that his sister remains in London.”

Lizzy’s heart rose for Jane. If he came alone, there was a chance of a reunion. She knew without a doubt that Mr. Darcy was not alone in the quest to separate Mr. Bingley and Jane. She knew Miss Bingley had as much, if not perhaps more, of a role in that escapade as Mr. Darcy.

Mrs. Bennet hastily put her purchase into a basket. “I’m glad Netherfield will not stand empty,” she said, turning her nose upward, “but I can’t imagine why you would think we would care about Mr. Bingley!”


	13. Chapter 13

Lizzy sat by the window, reading. Books had been her only solace in the recent days, between her mother’s relentless fantasies about Mr. Bingley’s return and her own feelings that were trying to swallow her. At least she could lose herself in the world between the pages. She could let other emotions overcome her own, she could live lives outside of hers.

Her mother and her sisters also sat in the parlor, but they were quiet for once. Mending, writing, embroidering occupied their hands and their minds. For that she was relieved. The only sound in the room was Mary practicing her scales, but that was such a common occurrence it was easy enough to ignore. Only Kitty was elsewhere in the house, occupying herself with her silliness.

“He is here! He is here! He is at the door!” Kitty burst into the parlor, beside herself with excitement.

“Oh my goodness!” gasped Mrs. Bennet.

“Who is here, Kitty?” Lizzy asked, concernedly.

“Everybody act naturally!” Mrs. Bennet called, hurrying over to Jane, who had frozen.

Mr. Bingley! Lizzy’s heart nearly stopped for her sister. Mrs. Bennet fussed over Jane’s hair and dress, while the girls rearranged themselves to look posed. Lizzy replaced her book with an embroidery hoop at a glance from her mother. Mrs. Bennet rushed around to tidy the parlor while Kitty craned out the window.

“Whatever you do, do not appear overbearing!” Mrs. Bennet clucked.

“There’s someone with him,” Kitty hissed. “Mr. what’s-his-name from before. The horrible, pompous one.”

Lizzy leaps to her feet before she realized what was happening. She peered through the curtain. Mr. Darcy! Now her heart had truly stopped. She hurried to sit again, afraid her knees would collapse.

Mrs. Bennet glanced out the window as she forced sewing into Kitty’s hand. “Mr. Darcy, indeed! The very insolence of it! What does he think, coming here?”

Lizzy wondered the very same, though perhaps with less of the displeasure. It did not surprise her that he wanted to be in town with his friend for the hunt, but to come here, to Longbourne? Her stomach roiled, and she wondered if she was going to faint. She wanted nothing more than to run upstairs out of the fray, to avoid the sight of him. She didn’t trust herself anymore.

There was a knock at the door, and all the girls froze in place. The tension in the room was palpable.

“Mr. Bingley,” announced the housekeeper as she opened the door, “and Mr. Darcy.”

Mr. Bingley looked delighted. He smiled warmly at Jane, who blushed deeply. Mrs. Bennet’s grin extended from ear-to-ear as she greeted Bingley, though she cast a cold glance at Mr. Darcy. Lizzy risked a glance at Mr. Darcy. His face was strained, and he appeared to be making a concerted effort not to look at her.

“How glad we are to see you, Mr. Bingley! It seems you were away so long! So many things have changed, since you have last been at Netherfield,” Mrs. Bennet seemed to be talking without taking a breath. Mr. Bingley listened, his smile not fading, observing Jane in his peripheral vision. “Ah—Miss Lucas is married and settled. And my own Lydia! It was in the papers, though not as it should have been. A line or two, and not a bit about her family.”

Finally, a pause. “I had heard of it,” Bingley said politely. “I offer my congratulations.” Mr. Darcy finally glanced at Lizzy, and she knew her face colored as she felt his eyes on her.

“It’s hard to have her away from me. I so love my daughters. Now she’s off in Newcastle with Wickham!”

“Are you long in the country, Mr. Bingley?” Lizzy asked, trying to allow Mr. Bingley a chance to speak. Mr. Darcy stared at her now, but she couldn’t catch his eyes for fear of fainting dead away.

“Just for the shooting,” he said, a tinge of gratefulness in his voice. “A few weeks.”

“When you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley, please do come here and shoot as many as you please—“

“Thank you—“

“Mr. Bennet will be delighted! He will save the best of the covies for you.”

“Excellent,” said Mr. Bingley. He had an air of nervousness about him, and Lizzy sensed that his courage was failing with Mrs. Bennet’s enthusiasm.

“Are you well, Mr. Darcy?” she asked, but she could hardly believe her own voice.

“Very well, thank you,” he said. His eyes softened instantly with the sound of her voice.

Elizabeth smiled, glancing at him. “I hope the weather stays pleasant for your sport.”

He cleared his throat slightly. “I return to town tomorrow.”

She swallowed. Why was he here? She couldn’t figure it. If he wasn’t here to be with Bingley for the shooting, then why was he even in the country? And most of all: why was he here, at Longbourne? She frowned slightly. “So soon?”

“Jane looks well, does she not?” interrupted her mother, shooting Lizzy a nasty glance.

Mr. Bingley’s countenance changed abruptly. “She does indeed,” he said awkwardly. “Well, I must be going. Darcy—“

Darcy shot Bingley a withering glance, and Bingley’s voice faded. “It’s been a pleasure to see you all again. Elizabeth, Miss Jane…” He couldn’t bear to look Jane in the eye. Apparently his courage had truly left him. He bolted for the door, and Mrs. Bennet fussed after him, calling for him to come again, to stay more at Netherfield. Elizabeth thought she might die from embarrassment, remembering Darcy’s impression of her silly mother.

Darcy glanced once more at Elizabeth, and she thought she saw longing in his eyes. He smiled briefly at her before bowing slightly and following his friend.

Elizabeth let her breath out in a rush. What had happened, and how in the world could they all recover? Her mind was spinning, and she could barely bear to look at Jane. Mrs. Bennet pouted, clearly not sure what to make of the encounter. She could imagine Mr. Bingley had intentions to at least court Jane again, though apparently he had not been brave enough to do so. Darcy, however, she couldn’t figure. What did he mean by tracking down Wickham and then coming here only to leave again? It didn’t make sense. Her stomach was full of butterflies. Could it be for her?

She blushed deeply, remembering her harsh rejection of him. Of course not. He must have business nearby. How could he bear to see her again? She picked up the book again, unwilling to stay too long with her thoughts. Still she refused to think the word, though she was becoming surer that’s what she felt. She only wished she could imagine him to feel the same way.

***

Less than an hour later, the bell rang again, and Mr. Bingley burst back into the parlor. The women all rose and curtsied, startled. His face was dark red. The women curtsied stiffly, and Bingley bowed hurriedly.

“This is—erm—I know this is all very embarrassing, but I would like to speak to Miss Jane—“

Everyone looked at him, startled.

“—alone.”

Mrs. Bennet trembled with excitement. “Everyone to the kitchen!” Jane looked at Elizabeth, desperately and slightly tearfully. “Now!”

***

Darcy wondered if Bingley’s courage would last this time. He paced along the outskirts of Longbourne, trying to decide what he had hoped to accomplish by coming here. Certainly, part of his motivation was to support his friend and prove his blessings were whole-heartedly given.

But seeing Elizabeth again has sent him whirling. He had no idea what he had expected, but it impacted him strongly just the same. He had a gut desire to stride in there and propose to Elizabeth again, right there.

Her rejection of him hit him like a gust of wind. It was more vivid than ever, and he could feel the blackness and sadness of it grasp his heart. He wanted nothing more than to collapse to the ground and wallow in his desire for her, but he was determined to keep his dignity.

He sighed, realizing something deep in his heart. He wasn’t going to return to town tomorrow. He wasn’t going to return to town until he got an answer once and for all from her—was there ANY chance, even the slightest one, that she might begin to return his affections?

He sighed, gazing back at Longbourne. He was filled with indecision. One thing was certain, he was determined to hear it from her own mouth. Had she truly been leaning into his kiss that night by the inn? Or had that simply been a figment of his wishful imagination?

He would find out soon enough. That would have to be enough for now.

***

Elizabeth sat under the tree, her knees pulled into her chest. Her heart was full—she was overjoyed for Jane. She had never seen Jane so happy before, and Jane was of a happy disposition. Mr. Bingley seemed similarly overjoyed. Jane was still shedding happy tears in the parlor with her sisters and Mrs. Bennet. Mr. Bennet was reveling in the relief of his oldest marrying so well, and in the joy of his daughter being so happy. The entire atmosphere was so different than it was when Lydia was married. This was a truly joyous event, and the whole house buzzed with it.

A sob shook Lizzy’s shoulders, and she buried her face in her arms. The other emotion washed over her. She could not deny jealousy at her sister’s situation—not the favorable marriage, but being able to happily be with the man she loved. Elizabeth had the horrid sense that that could never happen for her.

The truth was, she had had the chance to do so, and she had turned it down. Slowly, she had realized that she had never truly hated Darcy at all. She had been drawn to him, and his rudeness had made her angry at herself for her attraction. The more she had talked to him, the more she had related to him, and the more she had resented him for being in a position to get away with his withdrawn behavior. 

But, dear god, the truth was she loved him, more deeply than she had ever loved someone outside her family before. Everything he had done in the past months had showed her her mistake in judging him so harshly. But it wasn’t until she realized what she had done for Lydia that they were so alike in their loyalty to her and his family—it was not simply a gesture for her, but also a gesture that spoke of his love and loyalty to his sister.

His love for Georgiana reminded her of her love for Jane. His shyness and withdrawal from society was not from pride, but instead from isolation—he had the burden of being both a brother and a father for Georgiana, for caring for his estate, for watching after the over-enthusiastic Bingley. She had begun to see that he was as uncomfortable with high society as she was—his distaste for Miss Bingley had become clear to her—and that made him seem stuffy and prideful when really he was simply uncomfortable. Lizzy’s own introversion related fiercely to him in that way. She had practiced her sociality (she had no choice; her only prospects lay in those around her) but she still preferred the company of Charlotte over the bustle of the party.

He had softened so much after his harsh words to her in the rain. He had realized that he had come off poorly, and clearly he had reflected on it and made steps to change it. Obviously, it was not his intention to be rude or hurt her, and the fact that he had was enough to persuade him to practice social behavior.

If only she had kissed him when she had the chance! Now he was gone forever, back to town tomorrow. She had realized too late that she wanted him, and now she would never have the chance to show him. She had robbed herself of her own happiness, all because she refused to admit she could be wrong.


	14. Chapter 14

Elizabeth was awake when the sound of hooves clattered up the drive. She gingerly got up, careful not to wake Jane, and peeked out the window. It was late, nigh midnight by her estimate, and she couldn’t imagine who could be calling at this hour. She shrugged on her robe, the chill of the night reaching her through the panes of the glass.

A terrific carriage with four majestic horses approached their door. She did not recognize the carriage, nor the driver, who despite the hour wore a tall top hat.

Lizzy slipped out the bedroom door and down the stairs to peer out the ground floor windows at their guest. She gasped when she caught a glimpse of the passenger.

“Lady Catherine!” she whispered to herself in surprise.

The loud clatter of the knock at the door woke her family. They all clambered downstairs in their robes, holding candles. Mr. Bennet answered the door.

Lady Catherine observed the assembled family haughtily. She observed Elizabeth for a moment, then returned her attention to the other members of the family.

“I hope you are well, Miss Bennet,” she said sarcastically, though not looking at Elizabeth at all. “This, I suppose is the rest of your family?”

“All but one,” answered Mrs. Bennet. “My youngest is recently married, your ladyship. And my eldest was just proposed to this afternoon!”

“You have a very small garden here,” Lady Catherine said.

“It is nothing compared to Rosings, I am sure, but it is bigger than Sir William Lucas’s!” Mrs. Bennet bragged.

Elizabeth was mortified. It was a terrible sign to be called upon by Lady Catherine in the middle of the night, but to be so embarrassed by her mother!

Mr. Bennet was more off-put by the intrusion. “Could I offer you a cup of tea, perhaps?” he asked tentatively.

“Absolutely not,” Lady Catherine snapped. “I must speak to Miss Elizabeth. It is a matter of urgency.”

Lizzy’s heart stopped. What in the world could have happened? Why would Lady Catherine need to talk to her?

“Of course,” she stuttered. Hurriedly, she curtsied and led her into the drawing room, lighting the lamps.

Lady Catherine shut the door harshly behind them. “I’m sure you can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand why I am here.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Indeed you are mistaken, Madam. I cannot account for the honor of your presence here.”

“Miss Elizabeth,” Lady Catherine said, with a certain air of anger, “you should know I am not to be trifled with! A report of most alarming nature reached me two days ago. Not only was it said that your sister was to be advantageously married to Mr. Bingley, but that you, Miss Bennet, would marry Mr. Darcy soon after! I know this to be a most scandalous falsehood—I would not injure him by supposing it might be the truth—but I knew I must come here to let my feelings be known to you.”

Elizabeth’s eyes flashed with anger. “If you are so sure it is untrue,” she said, trying to restrain her frustration, “then I wonder why your ladyship took the trouble to come so far.”

“I must here such a report universally contradicted!”

“Is it not true,” Elizabeth said coolly, “that your coming here to Longbourne would be a confirmation of it, if such a rumor were to exist?”

“If?” Lady Catherine screeched. “You pretend you did not create it yourself? Did you not take great lengths to spread the report abroad?”

“I have never heard such a report,” Elizabeth answered. “If it were so wide-reaching as your ladyship implies, would not I have heard of it?”

Lady Catherine’s eyes were on fire, seemingly determined to strike Elizabeth down on the spot with her gaze. “Can you likewise deny that there is no foundation for it?”

Elizabeth’s fury crescendoed. “I do not pretend to possess such frankness with your ladyship! You can ask me questions which I refuse to answer.”

Lady Catherine had unfortunate timing. To bring up Lizzy’s injury so close to its infliction did not improve Lizzy’s mood. She had no patience for Catherine’s meddling and pompousness, and this was simply too much for her to bear!

“This is not to be borne, Miss Elizabeth! I ask you, and I insist upon being satisfied: Has my nephew made you an offer of marriage?”

The images of Darcy’s earnest face as he professed his love flashed through her mind, and her eyes stung with tears of loss and anger. Her voice trembled when she answered.

“Your ladyship has declared it impossible.”

“It ought to be so! It has to be so! Assuming, of course, that he retains his reason. I mean, of course, that you, Miss Elizabeth, might have…drawn him in.”

Indignation replaced her sadness, and she desired nothing more than to slap Lady Catherine across the face. “If I have, I would be the last one to confess it!”

“Miss Bennet, do you know who I am?” Her voice went up to an even higher pitch. “I am not accustomed to treatment such as this! I am Mr. Darcy’s dearest relation, and I am privy to his deepest concerns!”

Elizabeth’s face flushed in her fury. “But you are not so privy to _mine,_ nor shall behavior such as this induce me to disclose it!”

“Now hear me,” Lady Catherine hissed. “Mr. Darcy is engaged to my daughter. This match, to which you so presumptuously aspire, can _never be_. What can you say to this?”

Elizabeth took a steadying breath. “Only this,” she said, her voice even, “that if this is indeed as true as your ladyship says, you can have no reason to suppose he could make an offer to me.”

Lady Catherine sighed, assuming an expression as if she were talking to someone of inferior intelligence. “Their engagement is of a peculiar kind. They have been intended for each other since they were in the cradle. It was a favorite wish of his mother’s. Do you, a woman of inferior birth, no connections to the family, and of no importance to the world presume to interfere with the wishes of his mother? Have you no propriety? He was, from his earliest hours, destined for his cousin.”

“I have heard it before,” Elizabeth said levelly. “If you have no other objection to the marriage, I will certainly not be kept from it by the wishes made when he and his cousin were infants. You have done as much as you could to induce the affection and the wedding. It is now in other’s hands. If Mr. Darcy will not marry Miss DeBourgh, and makes me an offer instead, why should I not take it?”

“Because honor, decorum, and interest dictate it! If you were to marry him, he would be rejected by society! No one would dare speak your name! Your reputation would tarnish his such that there would be no recovery,” she said venomously.

Elizabeth smirked slightly. “These are heavy misfortunes.” She was unable to quite keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “A Mrs. Darcy would likely have other happinesses the likes of which would drive away depression.”

“Obstinate, headstrong girl!” Lady Catherine shouted. “I came here with one purpose, and I will not be dissuaded from it. I am not in the habit of brooking disappointment!”

“That will make your ladyship’s situation more pitiable, but it will have no effect on _me._ ” Elizabeth no longer had any desire for decorum. Politeness had become impossible long ago.

Lady Catherine’s eyes were cold with rage. “This will not be endured! If you were sensible, you would not wish to quit the sphere you were born in!”

Lizzy took another breath, willing herself to keep just enough control not to shout at her. “He is a gentleman, I am a gentleman’s daughter. So far we are equal!”

“Ah, but who is your mother? Who are your uncles and aunts? Do not think me ignorant of _their_ condition!”

“Whatever they are,” spat Lizzy, “if your nephew does not object to them, what are they to _you_?”

Lady Catherine’s hands curled into fists. “Tell me once and for all,” she said, her tone full of warning, “are you engaged to him?”

The past few months flashed in her mind again. She desired, more than anything, to say she was, but her heart shriveled to know she was not. “I am not,” she said slowly.

“And you promise me to never enter such an engagement?”

Elizabeth glared at her. “I will not!”

“I shall not go away until I receive the assurance I came here for.”

“And I certainly shall never give it. Your arguments are frivolous and ill-applied. I beg you to importune me no further on the subject.”

“To my arguments, which were so easy for you to dismiss, I have another to add. I know of the particulars of your sister’s hastily patched-up marriage, of the expense to your father and uncle!” Lizzy choked back a laugh—if only she knew the particulars of her nephew’s involvement! “Heaven and earth, girl! What are you thinking? Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?”

“You now can have nothing further to say,” Elizabeth answered measuredly. “You have insulted me by every possible manner. I must beg you to take your leave.”

“You have no regard, then, for the honor and credit of my nephew! Unfeeling, selfish girl!”

“I have nothing further to say. You know of my sentiments.”

“You are resolved to him, then?” she said, not budging.

Elizabeth crossed her arms sharply. “I am only resolved to act in a manner that will constitute my own happiness, without reference to you, or anyone else so wholly unconnected to me!”

“Do not imagine, Miss Bennet,” she said, her eyes narrowing, “your ambition will be gratified. Depend upon it: I will carry my point.”

Lizzy strode over to the door and opened it, gesturing for Lady Catherine to leave.

“I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send your mother no compliments. You deserve no such attention! I am most seriously displeased.”

Lady Catherine storms past her family, waiting in the entry, trembling with her anger. “I have never been thus treated in my entire life!”

The Bennets stared after her for a moment, stunned. Mr. Bennet turned to Lizzy. “What on earth is going on?”

Lizzy felt her anger deflating, felt a desperate hurt filling her instead. “Just a small misunderstanding,” she said, starting for her room.

“Lizzy!” her mother scolded. “What have you done?”

Lizzy felt the tears filling her eyes. It was only a moment before she lost control, and she was determined to be in her room when it happened. What had she done to deserve such insults? She had not asked for such a silly mother, and such embarrassing sisters? All she wanted was to be with the man she loved! To bear such an encounter the day she realized that could never be…It was enough to make her shake with emotion.

“For once in your life,” she said with a tremor in her voice, “just leave me alone!”


	15. Chapter 15

There was no power on the earth that could’ve induced her to sleep that night. Jane had finally drifted off again, after gently encouraging Lizzy to calm down and not to worry about Lady Catherine. Lizzy hadn’t been able to manage a coherent explanation as to her emotions, even though she desperately wanted Jane to understand why she felt she was breaking.

“Oh, Jane,” she had gasped between sobs, “I have been so foolish.”

The bitter taste in her mouth had not subsided after Lady Catherine had left. She had never been so deeply affected by a few insults in her entire life—unfortunately, Lady Catherine had struck a raw spot, and shook Lizzy to her core.

Darcy was gone to her now, gone forever. And her prospects of marriage were terrible, her prospects of happiness nonexistent. She hadn’t understood love before—she had thought it to be only fiction, or at least this all-encompassing feeling of friendship for someone to be an exaggeration. Now that she felt it, it was the deepest emotion she had ever felt. It reached the parts of her that she had thought were guarded, but she had been so wrong.

Lizzy once again crawled out of bed and shrugged on her robe. She had long ago ran out of tears, but her mind was still drowning in emotion.

She set out across the park. It was barely dawn, and the sky was just starting to lighten. A thick fog blanketed the grass as the dew started to evaporate. A few tardy stars twinkled above her, and the moon obstinately stayed in the sky.

Suddenly, her mind went numb, like the fresh air replaced her emotion. She wondered if she would wander forever, just to keep the emotion from catching up with her. She crossed a creek towards the wide open meadow, wanting to lose herself in the tall grass.

***

Darcy wanted to feel closer to her, and the best way he could think of to do that was to walk. She loved walking. He smiled just thinking of it.

He could understand why she loved it. It was so much easier to manage his desire, his indecision in the fresh air of the dawn. His feet led him steadily towards Longbourne. He needed one more glance to decide what he was going to do.

***

She glanced back at Longbourne, but could barely see it anymore for the trees between it and her. The sky slowly yellowed, and she wrapped her robe tighter around her as the mist soaked through to her skin. Her slippers were soggy, and the ground squished slightly beneath her feet.

The birds were starting to sing, and the music gave her strength.

***

He began to see the trees that surrounded Longbourne just as the sun peeked over the horizon. His breeches were wet as he waded through the dewy grass. He could feel her as he walked, he felt her essence that had seeped into him.

***

She looked up to the horizon as the sun rose above it. Distantly, she noticed a silhouette walking toward her in the mist. It couldn’t be!

***

His first thought when he saw her was that he was in an embarrassing state of undress. His second was that she had never looked so beautiful as now, under the early morning light.

***

“Mr. Darcy!” she gasped as he neared her, unable to believe her eyes. His coat was undone, his shirt was untied. He had not yet shaved. Her heart beat unevenly to look at him.

He smiled a half-smile, his blue eyes startling in the soft light of the sunrise. “What are you doing out so early?” he said.

“I could not sleep,” she confessed, entranced by his eyes and his lips. Just seeing him again was so unexpected to her she could not properly process it.

“Me neither,” he agreed. “I have been up most of the night.”

She did not know what to say, how to react to his vulnerable appearance. It was so out-of-character for him to be so ungroomed, so undressed, and it made her weak at the knees to see him. It felt like a sign of trust, of intimacy, and suddenly she was aware that she, too, was in her nightgown.

“I hardly know how to thank you,” she said eagerly, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “You have shown unequalled kindness to Lydia in resolving her marriage, and I expect you had a hand in Jane’s happy resolution as well.”

He looked into her eyes, and his love for her was unmistakable. “I am alarmed to know you have found out about what I tried in earnest to keep secret. But, you must know, your happiness was one of my greatest inducements.”

Elizabeth looked at her feet, her heart swelling. Never had her heart felt so full, so warm. Just being here next to him comforted her, and the memory of Lady Catherine’s insults faded.

Mr. Darcy took a deep breath. “I know you are too generous to trifle with me. I heard that you spoke with my Aunt last night, and I rather foolishly allowed her indignation to give me hope.” Elizabeth blushed deeply. What had Lady Catherine told him of her behavior? “If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once.” She had never heard such earnest desperation in someone’s voice. “My affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever.”

Elizabeth’s tongue seemed paralyzed. Had she, in fact, fallen into a dream? This could not be reality—how could he love her, even now, after she had been so unkind and unforgiving to him?

“If, however,” he said, his eyes intense on hers, “your feelings have changed, you must allow me to tell you: you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I _love_ you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.”

Elizabeth wanted nothing more to answer his sentiments instantly, but her entire body was trembling and she didn’t trust her voice. Her heart welled up and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I am happy to inform you,” she managed, a terrible tremor in her voice, “that not only have my sentiments changed, but no other words could give me greater pleasure.”

He smiled at her, his face full of relief and happiness, and he had never looked so wonderful. She stepped forward, and his arms wrapped around her. She craned up on her tiptoes and kissed him.

The chill of the morning was gone as warmth filled her from head to toe. She was floating, tethered to the earth only by the feeling of his body against hers. She wrapped one arm around his neck, and the other hand rested against his cheek. His hands pressed into her back, pulling her closer to him. Her skin hummed; this was where she belonged, and she wanted to stay here forever.

Nothing mattered anymore, not Lady Catherine’s sharp tongue, not Lydia’s shabbily patched-up marriage, not her mother’s behavior. She didn’t care what anyone else thought, she loved this man with her whole heart and she couldn’t be happy until she married him.

 


	16. Chapter 16

The look on her mother’s face when she had told her of her engagement was beyond description. Lizzy derived a strange satisfaction from the astonishment and disgust and amazement that melded on her face. Her father’s reaction was more difficult to bear, but his desire for her happiness strengthened her affection for him.

It was Jane who reacted the best to the news. She was encouraging and delighted, having finally received the missing piece that revealed the motivation behind Lizzy’s recent discontent and misery, and having both of those finally resolved. Together, the sisters beamed. They couldn’t be any happier, except perhaps after the wedding was official.

And, Darcy—she had never seen him so happy. A soft smile was always present on his face, and his eyes twinkled whenever he looked at her. And he couldn’t stop looking at her. Whenever he was around she felt his eyes on her, and it was warm and comforting.

But there was one thing that was driving her absolutely, delightfully mad: the touching. Whenever they walked together, his hand was resting on the small of her back, or her arm was hooked in his. Whenever they were alone, he kissed her, on the cheek, on the forehead, or sometimes, when he was overcome by her, on the lips. Once or twice, they had nearly gotten carried away, and they pulled away, blushing. Once, just once, he has kissed her on the neck and she went weak at the knees.

Her dreams were plagued with images of their wedding night, and more than once she caught her thoughts wandering when she was alone, reading. She and Darcy would be alone in the living room, and he would take her hand. Gently, their kisses melted into something more sultry. His skin, his hair was so soft.

“Lizzy!” Jane whispered, sitting down on the bench next to her. Lizzy started, nearly dropping the needle and embroidery hoop in her hands. “Lizzy, you’re blushing! What were you thinking of?”

Lizzy smiled at her lap. Jane giggled, nudging her with her elbow.

“Are you at all nervous, Lizzy, about being married?”

“Not terribly,” Elizabeth said. “I am too happy to be nervous.”

Jane smiled. “Me too.” Jane hesitated, clearly intending to say something else. Her cheeks were bright pink. “Are you worried, at all, about the…wedding night?”

Elizabeth felt her face redden. “I am unsure.” She wanted desperately to admit her feelings, but was embarrassed to be thinking about it at all. It was improper for a lady of her station. “I trust Darcy deeply, and he has always been a gentle and tender kisser.”

Jane bit her lip. “I trust Bingley with my everything,” she agreed. “I am just thinking of mother’s advice, to lie back and think of other things because it will be over soon. She makes it sound like such punishment.”

Lizzy nodded. “I am holding onto the belief that that is something all mothers say to preserve their daughter’s honor for their husband.”

Jane smiled and squeezed Lizzy’s hand. “We should talk of other things. Have you found a gown yet? I saw the most beautiful blue satin gown in town. Mr. Bingley thinks blue flatters my eyes.”

“Every color flatters your eyes, sister. You are the beauty of the town.” Elizabeth looked down at her needlework and started another stitch. “Mr. Darcy has sent off to London for a gown. He wants to surprise me.”

Jane smiled. “I could hardly believe it at first, but he really does love you! Who would’ve guessed that that seemingly unpleasant gentleman would be your husband?”

Lizzy grinned. “Least of all me,” she said. “Oh, Jane. I’m so happy!”

Jane leaned over and hugged her. “I am happy for you, Elizabeth. I am so happy.”


	17. Chapter 17

To be a wife was the most pleasant feeling in the whole world. She felt so wonderful enveloped in his arms. Her ear rested on his chest, felt his warmth, listened to his heart. Mere hours ago, they had stood at the altar. She beamed in front of her family, glowing in her emerald dress. Now, they sat on the bed together, something that mere hours ago would’ve been scandal.

“Lizzy,” he said softly, and she felt his voice vibrate his chest.

“Mmmmm,” she responded, unwilling to disturb her own peaceful position to look at him.

His lips pressed into her head and she lifted her face to look at him. There was the utmost adoration in his eyes. She inhaled sharply, and their lips met with the newly unrestrained passion of newlyweds.

She tasted him for the first time, and it was better than she could have imagined. An indescribable feeling washed over her, and goosebumps rippled down her arms. They were of one breath, one heartbeat, and she hummed with pleasure.

It seemed like a thousand times that she had imagined this very moment, and yet nothing could have prepared her for it. Her heart was swelling so that it felt like it was pushing against the walls of her chest. He sighed against her, and her heart melted. Softly, her lips parted, allowing him to deepen his kiss.

His lips were velvet against hers, his skin warm like a fire in the winter. She wanted to wrap herself in him like a blanket to shield out the world. His hands cupped her face and hers cradled his neck. This was love.

One of his hands crept behind her head to unpin her hair. It cascaded down her back as they broke for a quick breath, and suddenly their gentle kisses turned to passion. He hungrily tasted her, his tongue teasing hers, his lips playfully devouring hers.

He broke their kiss, trailing his lips across her cheek, down her jaw, to her neck. Ever so gently, his tongue brushed across her skin as he kissed her, and she gasped, a chill running through her. Her hands fell to his chest as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer.

He moved down to gently kiss her collarbone, and she could barely get her breath. Her eyes were closed in contentment. She burned with desire and love for him.

Suddenly, he pulled away. She gasped for the loss of sensation, opening her eyes to look at him.

She could see slight guilt and trepidation behind the desire in his eyes. “You mustn’t allow me to do anything that hurts you,” he said softly.

She smiled. “I won’t.” She leaned into him again, kissing him on the cheek. “So I’m honor-bound to tell you,” she whispered into his ear, “that it hurts me that you’ve stopped.”

She felt his smile even though she couldn’t see it. “Allow me to remedy that, milady.”

He kissed her with redoubled passion, one of his hands entwining in her hair. His other hand rested tentatively on the side of her chest. She gasped for breath around his lips, her fingers grasping his hair. Slowly, she fell backwards, allowing him to kiss her from above.

With careful control, he let his weight rest on her. There was such hungry tenderness to his kisses and embrace. It was unreal to taste him, to feel him. His hair fell forward, barely brushing her face as he kissed her.

Her breathing quickened, shallowed in the moments he moved from her mouth long enough to let her breathe. The sound of his breath mirroring hers made her heartbeat quicken, made this spot in the middle of her gut burn with longing. Suddenly, one of his hands gently, softly began to stroke her breast and a fluttering, desperate feeling rose up inside her. She sighed breathily around his mouth.

The sensations were even more all-encompassing than she had imagined over and over again. Every thought in her brain had turned to him, and her senses could barely process the sensations. She wanted to smell him, taste him, feel him, _know_ him. Every aspect of him was open to her and she wanted to drink it in. The physical sensation was already becoming too much for her to process, and she knew there was more to come.

His mouth moved again to her neck, and his tongue lightly swirled in the hollow of her clavicle. The slightest hint of a moan escaped her throat before she even knew it had started. It was then that she became aware of a new sensation.

She had imagined it over and over again, how it would feel against her when he got aroused. She had read books that described it. It was nothing like that.

It was so _arousing_ to feel him react that way to her. There was a sort of power to it, to draw this out of him. He was so careful to be so formal, so put together. To know that he truly was undone by her was heady, and she felt her insides liquefy.

He pulled her up, his face still buried in her neck. His hands went behind her, undoing the laces of her dress. Seconds later, the bodice of her dress was pulled down to her waist and she was before him in a chemise and her stays. She flushed just slightly from embarrassment, but she trusted him enough that it passed quickly.

He did not pause before starting on the laces of her stays. All at once it was free, and her breasts tumbled to their natural location. He pulled back and looked at her, his eyes dark. His hands cupped her breasts through her chemise, and her heart quickened again. She thought it might beat out of her chest.

“I feel as though we are a bit unequal,” she managed, and her voice trembled.

He smiled. “That I can remedy as well,” he said. He shrugged out of his coat and tore his shirt over his head.

He was trim and well-muscled, a fact she had appreciated over and over again during their engagement through his shirt, but had yet to see. Dark tendrils of hair shaded his chest, and before she was aware of her own actions, her fingers ran through it. A soft rush of air escaped his lips and his skin tightened beneath her fingertips. His nipples formed dark peaks, and she found herself fighting the urge to kiss them.

They kissed again as her hands roamed the newly exposed skin of her husband. He toyed with her breasts gently, his thumbs brushing against her nipples until they too stood at attention. This spurred her deeper and deeper into arousal, until all thoughts of ladylike decorum faded.

And that’s when she reached out to touch him.

She knew what was there beneath the cover of his breeches, even though she had not seen it. It was a great transformer, something that swelled and hardened in reaction to arousal of its owner. It was the bringer of his pleasure, the thing that was required for the consummation of their marriage to occur, and tonight she would become intimately acquainted with it in ways virginal women such as herself were supposed to never have thought of. It seemed only fair, only natural, if this thing was the officiant of their wedding night, that she be the first to acknowledge its presence.

He pulled away from her, startled by her forwardness, and his first reaction was to look down at her hand on him. Her hand traced it, caressed it, felt the shape of it, well aware that his muscles were stiffening in reaction to the sensation.

“Elizabeth,” he said, as if beginning a warning or admonishing statement, as if he were worried that she was doing this out of some misplaced duty to please him or as if he were worried she was too nervous to take such a big step in this big night.

“Shh,” was her only response, and his protest was discontinued instantly. After a few more seconds, the next sound from him was a groan.

She tugged on his breeches, deftly loosening the buttons with one hand. Once again, he started to speak and she stopped him. His erection was suddenly free of its prison and stood up to prove it. For a moment, she was surprised by it. She had to look at it, to take it in. Her cheeks colored as she realized it might be impolite to stare, and her eyes returned to his instead.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, his eyes searching her for some sign of alarm or trepidation. She knew they would find none.

“We are unequal again,” she murmured, and stood to shed her chemise. In return, he also stood, removing his breeches and stockings.

Suddenly, they were exposed to each other. To Elizabeth, it was an odd feeling but not an unpleasant one. His eyes were hungrily roaming her form, and the moment was filled with an intensity so great she was not sure if she could take it. She started to bend to unhook her garters, but he stopped her.

Slowly, not taking his eyes off her, he knelt before her. His hands cradled her calves for a moment before creeping up to her thighs and then finally coming to rest on her buttocks. He moved closer to her, until his face was mere inches from her sex, and inhaled deeply, shuddering. After a moment, he unhooked her garters and sensually drew down her stockings.

He stood again and they were naked before each other.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said.

Her eyes scanned him, eager to appreciate every inch of his body. He was hers now, and she wanted to memorize every curve of his being. “I love you,” she answered, her mind unable to form another coherent thought.

“And I you,” he said before lifting her back onto the bed.

He knelt between her legs as she lay on her back. His hands massaged her breasts, trying to get the feel of them. From the look in his eyes, she knew that this must’ve been something he had imagined many times before. He dipped to kiss one and gently sucked the nipple into his mouth. A moan escaped her at that, and she whimpered when he responded by swirling his tongue around it.

It was an unfamiliar feeling, to be so deliciously aroused. She could only describe it as a pressure and a need. She felt empty, like she had to be filled. How could she feel this way when she had never been filled before?

She was growing desperate, and for what she was unsure. She just knew that something, _something_ , had to quell, to assuage this terrible need inside her, this burning between her legs. She wrapped her arms up under his and grasped his shoulders. Her hands grabbed tighter than she intended, and she felt her nails dig slightly into his skin. He groaned, and one of his hands was suddenly resting on her inner thigh, tantalizingly close to the fire that she needed extinguished.

“Please,” she whimpered, unsure what she was begging for. She wondered what he was feeling. Was it uncomfortable for him, to be so engorged? Was he as desperate as she for _something_ to put out this fire?

His hand slipped upward, and this time, her moan was loud.

What was he doing? Suddenly, the fire burned hotter, brighter, but she had never known such pleasure of the body before. His mouth switched to the other breast. She felt his erection against her leg again.

“Darcy,” she gasped. She could hardly catch her breath. She was squirming beneath him. She couldn’t lie still.

“Mmm?” he answered, not moving his mouth from her breast, not stopping his fingers. The vibration of his voice on her skin sent goosebumps prickling down her body.

She couldn’t answer, couldn’t think of any words. The only thing in her mind was him and he was Darcy. “Darcy,” she gasped again, but the pitch was higher this time.

He lifted his mouth, looked at her face, and then kissed her quickly on the cheek. His hand moved quicker, changed its pattern, and he kept staring into her eyes. Her heart was pounding now, she could hear it in her ears. She was losing control of her muscles. Her hands kept clenching the sheets and relaxing. She had to remind herself to breathe.

“Oh, Fitzwilliam.” This time, a deep moan. Some strange trance and tremor had taken over her body, and she was overcome by it. Almost beyond her control, her head pressed backwards, her back arched towards him, her hips bucked into his hand. Pulses, waves of pleasure washed through her, and a slow wash of warmth trickled through her limbs into her fingers and toes. Her mind was full of nothing but sensation, and it soothed her frustration, desperation.

Almost as suddenly as it began, it was over. She was panting, and his hand was on her hip now. Her arms, her legs felt like jelly. The burning was not gone but it suddenly felt very different. She felt sated.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly when her eyes returned to meet his. His erection was still very obvious, and almost looked to have taken on a purple tinge towards the tip. Certainly, that had to be uncomfortable.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “That was very…pleasurable.”

He smiled at her. “There is more pleasure to come, if you are up for it.”

“I hope this includes pleasure for you,” she said. “I wonder if that is uncomfortable.”

His smile did not fade, which encouraged her of his enjoyment. “I have already enjoyed so much pleasure with you, Elizabeth. But yes, there is pleasure for me to come much like the pleasure you just experienced.”

***

When he was honest with himself, he was not entirely convinced of his self-control for the next step in this venture. The look on her face as she experienced the first climax of her life was nearly enough to make him lose every semblance of himself.

It was hard not to laugh when she asked him if he was uncomfortable. God yes he was uncomfortable. But it was the most delicious discomfort of his life. He wouldn’t trade it for anything. Except possibly his release, but that would come. Oh yes, he would come.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The more he thought about it, the more dangerous it was for his dignity. He knew that for her tonight, he would have to go slowly. That was going to be a huge challenge for him, but he knew that this was a much more difficult thing for her than it was for him.

God, she was everything. She was beautiful, and sensual, and so much more than he had ever hoped or dreamed.

He kissed her again and again. He kissed her until he felt lightheaded from lack of breathing, until he couldn’t stand his arousal anymore.

He looked down into her eyes. “You will keep your promise to me. You mustn’t let me hurt you.”

“I won’t,” she said, smiling contentedly. “Certainly you have only done the opposite so far.”

He couldn’t quite look her in the eyes to ask the next question. “Do you understand what comes next?”

She bit her lip, and he could tell she was remembering something that embarrassed her. Her cheeks pinkened slightly. “Yes,” she murmured. “I’m not afraid.”

“Good,” he said. His muscles trembled slightly in anticipation. God, this was beyond him.

He slipped his hand back between her legs. It was a singular sensation to be allowed this intimacy with her. She was warm and wet. Oh yes, a singular sensation.

She almost purred with pleasure as his hand resumed its ministrations from before.

“That feels _so good_ ,” she whispered, as if she was afraid to say it out loud.

Finally, he laughed. It felt like a little bit of a release, like they had been wound so tight this whole time and now they were allowed to relax. “Good,” he said. “Can you make me another promise?”

“Mhmm,” she said. Her eyes were closed and one or her hands was grasping the sheets.

“You must always tell me when something I do makes you feel good.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Of course,” she said. A pause. “That feels really good.”

He laughed again. He leaned down to kiss her neck and whispered into her ear. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. Her voice was almost enough to make the next part unnecessary.

He entered her slowly, and she gasped. He couldn’t keep back a moan, and he was clenching his fist so hard his knuckles turned white. It took him a moment to be sure he was back under control, but he couldn’t stop from trembling.

“Are you alright?” he managed, but he barely recognized his own voice. He was uncharacteristically unsteady.

“Mmm…yes,” she said. He could tell she hesitated. He wondered what it felt like, from her perspective. From his, it felt incredible and he wondered how long he could last. Not long, was his guess.

“You can keep going,” she said softly.

He obliged, though possibly because he couldn’t keep still a moment longer. He withdrew slowly, his breathing ragged. Again, he pushed into her. This time, she moaned with him, and it was not a moan of pain.

Gently, tenderly, he began to establish a rhythm. It was all he could do to control himself. Every move he made elicited a sound from her. He wasn’t sure if he could hold his own weight anymore. He was making the most ungentlemanly sounds, but he couldn’t help it. He had become absolutely undone by her, and it would not be long before he surrendered to that feeling.

He suddenly remembered his hand between her legs. This was crucial to establishing sex as something she would enjoy, not endure. He wanted nothing more than to remind her again and again of the pleasure she could enjoy with him. He began to move it again, to pleasure her.

“I feel myself inclined to beg again,” she gasped, “though I do not know for what.”

He smiled for a moment before his face again returned to a canvas for his physical pleasure. “Do not worry, my love,” he managed. “I will grant it anyway.”

He knew his thrusts were becoming faster, harder than he had intended, but he was feeling no resistance from her, was seeing no evidence of pain in her eyes. In fact, if he were to extrapolate from her body language what she was feeling, he would assume pleasure.

“Mm,” she started, “this feels good.”

“Oh, yes,” he agreed. “It really does.”

She cried out and he knew she was climaxing again. He could actually feel it around him. It was too much. This was it.

His pleasure took him, hard. Harder than anything he had ever felt before. He too cried out as his legs trembled and his heart stuttered and he felt the sweet release of orgasm. He wasn’t even sure anymore what his body was doing, but since he had no control over it, it didn’t matter.

He didn’t want this moment to end, didn’t want this pleasure to fade. He wanted to be here, with her, body and soul together, forever.

But of course it did. The pleasure left him feeling weak, like his limbs were made of gelatin. She was so soft and warm beneath him. His heart was still galloping. This night was perfect.

“Was that it?” she asked softly, her face still flushed with her orgasm.

He laughed. “Oh, yes. That was it.” When he had his strength back he rolled off of her.

“It’s just that…” She struggled for words. “It’s just that my mother made it sound so… _unpleasant_.”

He laughed again. He couldn’t help it. He knew her words were heartfelt, that she had truly worried about the consummation being unbearable. “Perhaps she wanted to encourage you to last the engagement until your wedding night,” he said. Not that he believed it. Truly, he believed that her mother found the whole thing very unpleasant.

“That’s what I told Jane,” she said with a giggle. “I found it hard to imagine anything with you could be unpleasant.”

“Good,” he said, tracing her jaw with his hand. “I love you more than anything.”

“And I you,” she said. “I am tired.”

He smiled at her and pulled her into his arms. “Sleep now, my love. There is plenty of time for talking after sleep.”

She squeezed his hand and snuggled even closer to him. He put his face into her hair and smelled her. She was sweet, floral, vanilla, sugar, and even better the musk of sex was on her. His eyes drifted closed. Being married to her was perfect, and for the first time, he was looking forward to the rest of his life, because she would be by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews, of course, are always appreciated! I hope you enjoyed it. I am updating it, I swear, but it may be slow with school. Thanks for your patience!


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